


Private Lives

by diana_hawthorne (stsgirlie)



Series: Private Lives [2]
Category: Law & Order, Metropolitan (1990)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stsgirlie/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth Olivet and Mike Logan begin their tumultuous relationship with a counseling session after Logan's partner, Max Greevey, is shot and killed. As the weeks and months pass, their relationship evolves to something neither of them expected, with consequences they cannot ignore.</p><p>Set from 1992-1993.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In "Betrayal," a Season 18 episode of Law & Order, it is revealed that Dr. Elizabeth Olivet had an affair with a police officer she counseled after his partner was shot. Though the detective wasn't named, it was strongly implied that the detective was Mike Logan. While their relationship ended at some point, later episodes indicate they've maintained their friendship and affection for each other.
> 
> Please note that some lines are taken directly from the show.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz Olivet and Mike Logan begin their relationship with a tempestuous counseling session.

‘Doctor Olivet is ready for you now,’ the receptionist says, and Mike Logan stands up abruptly, heading towards the open door and the slim brunette woman holding it open.

‘Detective Logan? I’m Dr. Olivet,’ she says, extending a long-fingered hand to shake his in a surprisingly competent grip. He shakes her hand quickly, his eyes taking in her figure, her shapely legs, her narrow waist, before meeting her blue eyes, cool and appraising. In her assessment of him, she notices the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, the tightness in his shoulders, the way his six-foot-something frame seems coiled tight as a spring. She releases his hand and closes the door, indicating a chair for him before she walks over to her own seat.

‘So, Detective Logan,’ she begins calmly, settling into her chair, legs crossed. ‘You’re here because--’

‘Can you just bust my chops and get it over with?’ he snaps.

She raises an eyebrow. She isn’t surprised by his bad manners; indeed, she expects it, and she continues in the same calm voice. ‘The purpose of this little get-together is emphatically not to “bust your chops,” as you put it. It’s to help you accept your partner’s death--’

‘I accept it,’ he interrupts. ‘Boom, he’s dead, end of story.’

‘Also, to help the officer in trouble reach a sense of closure…’ she continues, still serene.

‘All right. First of all, I’m not in trouble, okay? Matter of fact I’m alive and I’m on the case. Second of all, I’m Irish Catholic. I got a sense of closure at Max’s wake.’

She leans back in her chair, regarding him curiously. ‘Well then, there’s no problem.’

‘That’s right. Can I go now?’ he asks anxiously, shifting in his chair like a child eager to escape school.

Liz holds up her hands, gesturing to the door, and watches with a niggling sense of concern.

As he reaches the door, he turns back to her. With just a hint of his famous charm he says, ‘Hey, listen, thanks a lot--but really, I’m fine.’

‘Hey Detective,’ she calls back. ‘Ever hear of the seven stages of grief?’

‘No,’ he says.

‘The first one’s denial,’ she tells him.

He looks at her coolly. ‘I’m fine.’

She raises her eyebrows as he hightails it out of her office, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

As he’s left ten minutes into their appointment she has ample time to take her notes and prepare her preliminary report for Captain Cragen. Detective Logan did behave far more coolly than his reputation suggests and she is surprised. She hasn’t been working at the 27th Precinct for too long but she’s already heard tell of his temper… and the legendary notches on his bedpost. She’s had him pegged before she met him and when he slouched into her office, his eyes skimming her legs, she felt a small, smug surge of complacency at her accurate estimation of his character even as she fought back a blush. He was far handsomer than she’d noticed from afar if you like those Black Irish looks, with the dark hair and flashing hazel eyes...

He promises to be a difficult case. He is clearly reluctant to share anything at all and his attention can barely last the ten minutes of their abortive session. He’s angry, that’s certain, and uncomfortable at being sent to see her. This will be an uphill battle and for a long moment she wishes she declined this job. But she wants to help people, and if she can help Logan she deserves a medal. 

***

She has a damn fine figure, he’ll admit, but despite that she’s emphatically not his type. He doesn’t need a woman with all of those letters after her name, someone who could run rings around him, especially not when there’s that hot blonde at his local bar. If he wasn’t being forced to get his head shrunk then he’d definitely enjoy their meetings, sitting across from her with a prime view of her shapely legs. But he is being forced, and he hopes that these sessions pass just as quickly as this week’s. He doesn’t have the time to waste here; endless sessions with a shrink will only dredge up memories best kept quiet, and they certainly won’t help him find Max’s killer.

***

Two days after Logan’s first appointment, one day after she submits her initial report, she returns to the 27 for an interview with Captain Cragen. She knocks on his office door.

‘Come in!’ he calls, and she pushes open the door.

‘Doctor Olivet,’ he says. ‘Take a seat. Thanks for coming to see me.’

‘Of course, Captain,’ she replies, closing the door behind her, then sitting down in the chair in front of his desk.

‘So, I read your report, but tell me--how did Mike’s first session go? Can we take him off the desk?’

‘He’s in denial,’ she says carefully. ‘Of course I can’t go into any details, but he hasn’t yet accepted his partner’s death.’

‘It just happened, I don’t expect him to get over it so quickly. They were partners for a long time. But do you think he’d do anything irrational, dangerous? Is he all right to go back in the field? We need to get these guys, Doc, and Mikey’s our best chance.’

She weighs his words, thinks back to the preternaturally calm--at least for him--detective who visited her office. ‘I think that you should be careful. I don’t know Detective Logan well, but I’ve heard tell of his temper. He seems to be very calm and in control right now, motivated to find his partner’s killer. He says he has closure.’

‘In control… that’s a first. Do you think he’s lying?’ Cragen asks her.

She pauses for a moment. ‘I think that he wants to be over his partner’s death--I think that he wants to bring Detective Greevey justice. Allowing him to do so might be the best way to help him past this.’

‘Thanks, Doctor,’ he says. She rises.

‘I’ll still need to see Detective Logan before I can sign off, you realize.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Even if he thinks that we’re finished.’

‘I’ll tell him. Thanks again, Doc.’

She nods and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.

***

Of course she underestimated Mike Logan’s temper. Barely a week later he was back in her office and this time he was a completely different person than the man she’d met with last Wednesday. Where than man had been calm, this one was practically shaking with barely-suppressed anger. She’d heard what happened from both Ben Stone and Don Cragen--that Logan, after getting a lead from a member of the grand jury, had tracked down the man’s son and held a gun to his head, demanding his confession. Of course it came out, and according to all accounts Logan wasn’t remorseful, only upset that the confession and all the subsequent evidence--enough to convict the man--was tossed.

‘How are you doing, Logan?’ she asks when he barges his way into her office.

‘You’ve heard what happened, I guess,’ he says, looking up at her.

‘I have, yes. But do you want to tell me about it?’

‘No point,’ he shrugs. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard all there is to know.’

‘I suppose I have. So Stone’s holding you responsible for Magadan almost getting off. Do you think that’s fair?’ she asks.

‘No, I don’t. But I don’t give a damn what he thinks.’

‘That’s not what I asked you.’

‘It’s not?’ he responds, aggravated.

She shakes her head. ‘What I’m asking is--do you feel it’s a fair assessment?’

He leans forward, his eyes flashing dangerously. ‘You mean, do I feel responsible for Max getting blown away? Maybe if I’d gone home with him, you know, maybe he wouldn’t’ve gotten zipped. Maybe I should’ve just stepped in front of that bullet myself, right?’

She nods encouragingly, hoping that he’ll continue, but he sags back in his chair.

‘No,’ he continues, and some of the fire in his voice has been quenched. ‘I don’t feel responsible. I feel incredibly… angry. That one of your seven stages?’ he asks sarcastically.

She nods again, ignoring the sarcasm.

‘Great.’

‘It’s a good thing, Logan,’ she chides him gently. ‘It means you’re moving forward, one step closer to acceptance.’

He shrugs angrily. ‘How’m ever going to accept Max’s death if I can’t do anything about it? Cragen’s put me on a desk and I have to take vacation time--as if I could relax while Max’s killer is on the loose. He did it and he’s just walking around! Stone should’ve gotten the confession admitted. I didn’t shoot the bastard, though I should’ve. That would’ve solved the problem.’

‘You didn’t shoot him because you know that would be wrong. You’re not a murderer, Logan, even if you do want to kill that man.’

‘I wish I could believe that, Doc,’ he says with a glimmer of humor. ‘But I suppose you know best.’

Well, she doesn’t, and while she generally likes to maintain the air of mystique that seems to surround all psychologists--it amused her that people often treated her profession as akin to witchcraft--with him she is annoyed. ‘You’re smarter than that, Detective,’ she says, allowing her calm facade to drop just the slightest amount. ‘I’m just here to help you work through things on your own. You know yourself best, and I hope that you can see that your desire was motivated by a sense of justice and not a sense of revenge.’

He quirks his eyebrows up and looks at her levelly, not looking away even as she feels herself flush. The ticking of her grandmother’s old clock on the mantel seems to slow as she returns his gaze.

‘So you think I’m a good man, then, Doc?’ he asks, and there is a note of flirtation in his voice. It frustrates and attracts her at the same time.

‘It matters what you think,’ she replies, a cop-out as she struggles to maintain her professional demeanor and control of the session. He continues looking at her, unsettling her, and she speaks again. ‘I do know you’re a good cop. That matters, too.’

‘Does it?’

‘Of course.’

He nods briskly, suddenly businesslike once again, as though she’s confirmed something for him.

As they lapse into a not-quite-comfortable silence the clock on her mantel chimes the hour.

‘That’s our session, then,’ she says in surprise, rising from her chair.

‘I can see myself out,’ he says, and nods to her. ‘Thanks, Doc.’

She sits back down and watches as he leaves the room. This time, to her surprise, his thanks were genuine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial for Max Greevey's killer ends and Mike continues his therapy.

As the days pass and the trial ticks on, She watches his moods as closely as she watches the barometer when she sails. The wheels of justice grind slowly, she learns. Due to unforeseen luck--‘the luck of the Irish, Doc, haven’t you heard of it?’--Logan keeps his job and the case is salvaged due to some delayed search warrants and a bit of fast talking from the D.A.’s office.

Despite the case proceeding relatively smoothly at last, Logan is still stuck on the temp desk, filling out endless booking forms in triplicate while his new partner handles cases on his own.

‘It’s stupid,’ he states bluntly in their fifth session. ‘Make one mistake and I’m stuck doing work even a rookie could do. How’m I supposed to watch Phil’s back when he’s out there on his own and I’m filing papers? I caught the guy, didn’t I? Even Robinette admitted that getting his confession saved the case. Otherwise we would’ve got the search warrants and might not’ve figured out who used the gun to shoot Max. This is damn stupid. When am I gonna be able get back to doing my job?’

‘Do you feel ready to get back to work?’ she asks.

‘I’m good at what I do. I’m good at my job. It’s not even just that I want to be back on the job, I need to be there. D’you get that? It’s what I do, who I am.’ He looks up at her, his expression serious. ‘We haven’t worked together, so you might not see--but despite the temper I am doing what I need to do.’

She’s floored by his honesty, unprecedented in their sessions. She'd almost given up hope they would ever get past the endless snide remarks, the avoidance techniques, his anger.

‘I want to do the right thing, Doc. Being on the job, catching the guys who hurt other people… it’s important.’

‘Did you always want to be a cop?’ she asks when he stops speaking.

He shrugs. ‘I suppose. Not much option out there for a guy of my background. Not like you… there never was a Ph.D. in my future; hell, there was barely even college. But to answer your question--I wanted to do good. I wanted to make things right. After--after everything, it was easier to see the path.’

‘After what?’ she questions softly, feeling obscurely guilty.

He shrugs again, stands up, and begins nosing around her office. He turns his back to her as he examines the mementos on her mantelpiece--the framed picture of her childhood home in Connecticut, a small alabaster vase from Egypt, a paper parasol from a college trip to Italy. They are symbols of her life, a life clearly utterly foreign to him. She waits patiently; the best lesson she ever learned was that so much of this profession is about listening, waiting.

‘My mother,’ he says at last. ‘So what if it’s an unoriginal problem, it’s still one of mine.’

He stops again and she waits patiently for him to continue, noting his tense stance, his hunched shoulders, as though he’s preparing for a blow.

‘I used to have to buy her booze.’ His words are deliberately flat, affectless. ‘She was a good Catholic woman, my mother. Used to hold the bottle in one hand and her rosary in the other. And when the bottle was empty her other hand was used for something far more productive. Spare the rod and spoil the child--isn’t that what they say?’

‘Did she only hit you when she drank?’ she asks quietly, shocked by his revelation. This is something she never suspected… but it explains a lot about him.

Still facing the mantel, he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Yeah, I guess. But she drank a lot. It was easier to not be there.’

‘And your father?’

‘My dad… he was a good man. Couldn’t help with her but oh well, not his fault. Worked hard. Tried to set a good example.’

He turns around, at last, to face her. She attempts to maintain her usual calm persona but fails as sympathy and pain on his behalf breaks through.

‘Logan--’

‘You asked,’ he said, not accusingly. ‘Anyway, I’m not one of your whackjobs, Olivet, so you can save the psychobabble for one of them.’

Though she recognizes his abrasive remarks as a defense mechanism, she feels a flutter of annoyance nonetheless. They were so close to making a real breakthrough before he simply shut down again and shifted the focus away from his painful memories.

‘Okay,’ she tells him soothingly.

‘Look, I have a busy day ahead of me,all right? Stone’s presenting closing arguments next Monday and I’ve got to go over stuff one more time with Robinette. So I’ll see you next week?’

She nods. ‘Have a good day, Detective.’

He flashes her a grin, an attempt to return everything to normal. ‘You too, Doc.’

 

She sneaks into the courtroom to listen to Ben Stone’s summation. It's stirring; she only hopes the jury is persuaded. She spies Mike sitting just behind the prosecution, sitting between Marie Greevey and her children, listening eagerly. After closing arguments the court is adjourned; she slips out before he can see her and makes her way to the DA’s office.

‘Can I help you, Liz?’ Ben Stone says, seeing her lingering by the elevator.

‘I just wanted to discuss my opinions on the Rossetti case, if you have a few minutes,’ she tells Ben.

‘Why don’t you step into my office?’ he suggests.

She nods and precedes him into his wood-paneled office, a cluttered, quiet haven in the bustle of the D.A.’s office. He closes the door behind them, shutting out the clamor.

‘Take a seat. Would you like any coffee?’ he offers.

‘No, thank you, I’m fine,’ she replies, perching in the chair next to his desk.

‘So, about the Rossetti case--’

‘Yes, I’ll be conducting a second interview tomorrow at the precinct. I feel that he’s hiding something… there’s something else there.’

‘Do you think he’s not competent to stand trial?’

‘No, I think he’s perfectly competent--but there’s another motivating factor there. He couldn’t have come up with this robbery by himself. Have you taken a close look at the family?’

Stone shuffles through the papers on his desk and extracts the relevant file. ‘Yes, we’ve interviewed them all. He hasn’t even had contact with his parents for the past four years, and his brother’s been in Attica for about that time, too.’

‘Check the visitor’s records. It’s possible that Rossetti has kept in touch with his brother and is lying about it. I can’t see another reason why a straight-A student felt the need to hold up a bodega.’

‘Thanks, I’ll have the cops on it tomorrow.’ He closes the file and looks at her. ‘I saw you at the closing arguments today.’

She shifts in her chair; though this is the reason she came, she is uncomfortable with Ben’s perspicacity. ‘Yes. They were very moving.’

‘I hope the jury agrees.’

‘Do you think they’ll convict?’

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. ‘I hope so. I can’t see why they wouldn’t. It was a horrible crime.’

‘Yes, it was.’ She pauses, then asks, ‘do you think it will take them long?’

‘I hope not.’

She nods. ‘All right. Thank you, Ben.’

‘Of course, Liz.’

 

The verdict comes late that evening, and she is just leaving her office when someone knocks at her door. She is surprised but when she sees Mike Logan on the threshold she opens the door wide.

‘Come in,’ she says, and he steps silently into her office. Gone is the brash detective she’s grown to know; here is a man who is grieving.

‘Verdict came in. Life without parole,’ he says, sitting down in his seat.

‘I heard. The D.A.’s office called me,’ she says. ‘How do you feel?’

‘It should feel better,’ he says. ‘It should feel good. He’s in jail for the rest of his life and he’ll rot in hell for what he did to Max.’

‘Maybe life wasn’t enough of a sentence,’ she muses.

He shrugs. ‘It’s what the law allows. I can live with it. I know I went over the line, I… I was down on myself for awhile,’ he admits, ‘even though, you know, I tried to rationalize it. I have to find a way… to forgive myself.’

‘Acceptance, Logan. That’s the--’ she prompts softly.

‘Yeah. That’s the last stage, right?’

She nods, smiling encouragingly.

‘Max is dead,’ he states, and she can hear the grief in his voice. ‘I accept it. But I’ll never accept it, you know?’

‘I know,’ she says. ‘It’s hard to get over a death. Often it never happens… but you’re right, you have to learn to forgive yourself, you have to learn how to go on.’

‘How?’

His voice is so bleak and he is in such pain that she wants to reach out and take his hand, tell him that everything will be all right.

She contents herself with tell him, ‘one day at a time, Logan. One day at a time.’

He sighs, nods, and looks up at her. ‘No magic mantra to make it stop hurting so much?’ he asks with a shade of his old humor. ‘No psychobabble you can spout to make it all go away?’

She shakes her head. ‘I wish there was.’

‘Well, it was worth a try,’ he shrugs halfheartedly. ‘Look, I should get going. It’s been a long day.’

‘Will you--will you be all right?’ She hates herself for stumbling over such a simple question, despite its importance.

‘Don’t worry about me, Doc, I’ll be fine,’ he says seriously, sincerely. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘We don’t have an appointment tomorrow,’ she says in confusion.

‘Well, you’re working on the Vreeland case, right? Cragen pulled me off the temp desk this afternoon and just assigned it to me and Cerretta. He doesn’t think Profaci can handle the big-time without a lot of handholding. To be fair, he’s probably right.’

She laughs and hears the nervous tremor in her voice. ‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

‘Great,’ he says. ‘See you tomorrow, Doc.’

‘See you tomorrow, Detective.’

 

‘Tell me, Detective, do they give you insensitivity training or are you naturally so charming?’ she snaps, leaning back in one of the rickety interrogation room chairs.

‘Well, Doc,’ he shrugs arrogantly. ‘What can I say? It takes a special kind of person to be a homicide detective.’

‘Clearly,’ she replies, watching him as he paces around the room.

What a change from the lost and grieving man in her office last night! She’d been given a glimpse of a deeply loyal, wounded man; a man who cared so much for his late partner it was hard to witness, even for her, she who is so used to eavesdropping on private grief.

‘So what’s your opinion, Dr. Olivet?’ Phil Cerreta asks her, politely deferring to her knowledge.

‘I don’t think she was sane at the time of the murder. Her knowledge of the events is patchy; she may have had a dissociative episode.’

‘That's just great,’ Logan says.

‘Do you have something to say, Detective?’ she snaps, frustrated by the questioning of her expertise.

He stops walking and slams his hands down on the table, leaning forward until there's barely any space between them. ‘Yeah, I do. You can't tell me you really believe that! She hid her identity and covered her tracks after nearly stabbing her boyfriend to death!’

‘Yes, but in her mind she was protecting herself. He'd already put her in the hospital once this month; she was scared!’

‘Then why didn't she admit it? I've worked enough battered women cases before, Doc, and that's how it goes.’

‘Not always.’

‘Almost always.’

They glare at each other and she feels her pulse speed up as she looks at him, his eyes dark and sparking with anger. Is it suddenly hot and airless in the room or is it just her? He is vibrantly alive and thrumming with energy and she bites her lip to fight back her sudden attraction to him.

‘Will you meet with her again, Doctor, after she's been at Riker’s for a few days? If it’s an act some time there might rattle her,’ Phil suggests.

She tears her gaze away from Logan and looks at Phil. 

‘I'll do that. Thank you for the excellent compromise, Detective.’ She stand up, pushing the chair back from the table. ‘Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment.’

She leaves the interrogation room, nodding to a few familiar officers as she walks through the precinct. Her car is parked around the corner, and just as she reaches her door a hand reaches out and grabs her by the elbow. She whirls around to face the person who grabbed her; when she sees him, she lets out a sigh of relief and sags against her car.

‘Logan!’ she gasps, heart in her throat. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘I wanted to apologize, Doc. It was wrong on me to go off like that. Look, I didn't mean to make you angry--this is the first case you're working with me, and I don't want to start off on a bad foot.’ He pauses. ‘Despite myself, you were a great help after…’

‘That's all right,’ she says, her heart still pounding as she looks up at him. She hadn't before realized quite how tall he was…

‘Just wanted to make sure there were no bad feelings,’ he says, then grins down at her. Surely it's a reaction from the fright he gave her but her knees feel a bit shaky.

‘Well, that is a surprise,’ she says. ‘Did Cerreta send you out after me?’

‘Didn’t think someone raised like me had manners?’ he replies good-naturedly, different again from the man in the interrogation room.

‘I suppose I just didn’t think if you were wrong you’d ever admit it.’

‘Well, now--I’m not admitting I was wrong,’ he grins. ‘But this is on my own accord.’

She doesn’t know how to respond. ‘Listen, Logan--I’m going to be late.’

He holds up his hands in mock defeat. ‘All right, all right. See you.’

She nods and slides into her car, watching him as he walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Liz establish a good relationship, which comes in handy when they work a difficult case together.

As the weeks pass and spring changes into summer, she finds it harder and harder to distinguish between the two Mike Logans she now knows--Logan-as-Detective and Logan-as-Patient. She still sees the latter once every two weeks for his sessions but she also is a colleague and one who now works closely with the former. He has two distinct, though not to say divergent, personas. Logan-as-Detective is sharp, funny, loyal, impatient, and dedicated, with a roving eye that prompts exasperated but good-natured comments from his new partner, Phil Cerreta, or “Big Daddy” as Logan refers to him. But Logan-as-Patient is a different being altogether. Though he’s slowly worked to assuage his anger over his late partner’s senseless death, he is reluctant, after those few brief moments of sharing, to tell her anything without her cajoling, prompting, or out-and-out questioning.

They’ve now established a good working relationship after that first misstep. They are sparring partners outside of their sessions; she tosses back rejoinders to his smug, opinionated comments, his surprisingly sharp wit. She didn’t expect that of him. She expected he would be less developed than the stereotypical womanizing Man she studied both in her textbooks and firsthand… he surprised her, and even after the first shock of discovery--that he was not, in fact, as one-dimensional as he appeared--he continued to reveal new facets to his personality. After that first altercation, Logan invited her, offhand and gruffly, to join them for lunch after her interview. When she looked at him in astonishment, he looked at her, grinned, and said, ‘I figure even women with triple-digit IQs gotta eat, Doc.’

When advising on a case she often joins Logan and Cerreta for coffee or a meal after her interviews; she shares her opinions with them in restaurants instead of the squad room. Things grow easier; they work well together, to her surprise. Cerreta, she knew, was a good cop, but Logan is, as he had claimed, very good indeed at what he does.

That’s not to say he doesn’t frustrate her. When she is involved in interviewing a psychotic homeless man, Logan looks upon him with contempt. She understands his feelings--they are human universals, the distaste and disgust for the mad, the dirty, the unknown--and she feels a flicker of disgust herself when the man leans under the table in an attempt to look up her skirt.

‘There is honor among these people, you know,’ she says, catching his eye. For a long moment they look at each other and something passes between them, but then he looks away.

 

In July Logan rings her up and asks her to come to the precinct to talk to a witness. She agrees, though he gives her only the basic outline of the witness’s profile: a highly-strung woman in her late thirties, possible witness to a murder when she was a child, estranged from her parents. She arrives at the precinct later that afternoon and finds Logan.

‘Is she in the interrogation room?’ she asks him.

He stands up, shuffling his feet as he approaches her. Phil Cerreta walks through the door with a cup of coffee in his hand and stands between them, listening. ‘Well… the thing is, Doc, I was kinda hoping you’d get in touch with her. She hasn’t… well, she hasn’t agreed to talk with us. I was hopin’ that you’d contact her, persuade her to talk to you or us.’

‘Me? I can’t contact her. It’s improper,’ she replies, a bit shocked he would ask this of her--not only for its impropriety but also that he of the staunch opinion that what she did was ineffective witchcraft would be willing to recommend psychiatric help.

‘We pushed her, it didn’t work!’

‘It’s not only improper, it’s ineffective. The woman has to trust me.’

‘I’ll tell you something,’ Cerreta begins, ‘if we don’t get Conover, we can bury those bones and this case along with it.’

Before she can reply, a cop wanders in. ‘Hey, Logan, woman asking for you.’ He jerks his thumb behind him to the lobby. Logan follows him, while she refrains from rolling her eyes. Probably yet another one of the women who couldn’t resist Detective Logan’s charm--they seemed to exist in droves.

A moment later he returns, trailing a woman who is emphatically not his usual type--she is petite, brunette, and haunted, and wrapped tightly in an enormous wooly cardigan. ‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet,’ he says. ‘Ms. Atkinson, this is Dr. Olivet. She’s a police department psychiatrist.’

She shoots him a curious look and he nods almost imperceptibly. So this is the woman who they were discussing… she extends a hand. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ Ms. Atkinson replies.

‘Would you like to talk?’ she suggests, and Ms. Atkinson nods, following her as she leads the way to the interrogation room.

 

When the finish the session two hours later, she walks Julie out of the precinct, gives her her card, and assures her she is always there to talk to her. She reenters the precinct after seeing Julie into a cab. Cerreta takes one look at her and insists on taking her to lunch at an Italian place four blocks down from the precinct--‘It has the best manicotti in Harlem, you won’t regret it!’ She agrees, exhausted from a difficult session.

‘So how’d it go? What’d you find out?’ Logan bursts out, barely able to wait until they’ve ordered to ask his questions.

‘For the first hour she didn’t even remember seeing the boy,’ she tells them.

‘What about Conover?’ Logan asks.

‘Nothing. She has this recurrent image--red and blue. She came back to it twice, but doesn’t know what it means.’

‘What was the Keegan kid wearing?’ Cerreta interjects.

‘Green shirt, khakis, black sneakers,’ Logan replies after a moment’s thought.

‘How screwed up is she?’ Cerreta asks.

‘I’d say severely,’ she replies gravely.

Logan asks incredulously, ‘and she says she never saw a shrink?’

She shrugs. ‘She also said she’s basically a happy person.’

‘What about hypnosis?’ Cerreta suggests.

‘Unreliable. And almost impossible to get admitted in court,’ she tells him.

‘Well, not if she doesn’t implicate herself,’ he replies. ‘If she gives us a lead and we corroborate it, we don’t need her in court.’

‘Yeah, but if we put her under, and then we end up needing her we’ll never get her on the stand,’ Logan retorts. ‘She coming back?’ he addresses her, but avoids her eyes.

‘We opened a vein. She might want to close it.’

‘Maybe, maybe, maybe,’ he mocks her gently.

She looks at him and replies sharply. ‘My feeling: she wants to know. Any idea what this red and blue is?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Cerreta tells her as their lunch arrives.

‘Something that might help--’ she says after fifteen minutes of silence while they eat. ‘We could try a walkthrough of that day. Take her through, step-by-step, starting with what she remembers. It could help awaken old memories.’

‘How likely is it?’ Logan asks. ‘We might be wastin’ a whole afternoon on something that gets us nowhere.’

‘Recovering repressed memories isn’t an exact science. If it was, my job would be a lot easier,’ she tells him, fighting and failing to hide a note of frustration in her tone.

‘All right, all right,’ he says, holding up his hands. ‘We’ll do it.’

 

A week later, after two additional sessions with Julie (she returned to her office after that lunch to a message from her, saying she wanted to continue therapy), they spend the afternoon walking through the thirty-year-old routine of a schoolgirl.

She is shaken by Julie’s memories; though she has read many studies on awakening memories stored in the subconscious, she has never before tried to dredge up such memories herself. She is floored by her success but disturbed by the memories. It’s clear that Logan and Cerreta are disturbed too, though to a lesser extent as they do not quite realize how unlikely this result was.

‘I’ll go back to the station, write up the report,’ she hears Cerreta say as she comforts Julie. ‘Mikey, will you and the doctor bring Julie back to her apartment? It’s been a long day for all of us and you deserve a break.’

She doesn’t hear Logan respond, though a few minutes later the door closes. She looks up; Cerreta is gone but Logan is still there.

‘D’you think you’ll be all right if we can get you back to your apartment?’ he asks the shaking woman.

‘Yes,’ Julie tells him. ‘I’ll be all right when I’m home.’

‘Good,’ he replies. ‘D’you want to walk or take a cab? Phil’s taken the car,’ he explains when she shoots him a curious glance.

‘Let’s walk. I could use the fresh air, I think.’

He nods, then leads the way down the stairs. Despite the heat of the July day, Julie is still shivering. Liz wraps her arm around her shoulders and Julie leans in to her. Logan, walking slightly ahead of them, looks back constantly and tries to engage Julie in a lighthearted conversation. As they walk back to Julie’s building on Central Park West, she gradually relaxes, almost laughing just as they turn the corner to her apartment.

She is surprised once more by him. He is easy and gentle with her, cajoling her, entertaining her, doing a wonderful job at keeping her mind off the horrific memories she’s just uncovered.

‘We’ll walk you up to your apartment,’ Logan says easily, drawing Julie’s arm through his as they pass through the lobby. She follows them into the elevator and watches as Julie unlocks the door with hands that tremble only a little.

‘Do you want some company?’ she asks.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Julie says with a small smile. ‘Thank you. I think I just need to sleep.’

Logan nods. ‘Give us a call if you need anything. You have my number, and Dr. Olivet’s as well.’

‘I will. Thank you both.’

‘Of course, Julie,’ she replies. ‘We’ll talk soon, and I’ll see you on Monday.’

She nods and then watches them as they walk away.

‘Well, that about wraps it up for the day, I guess. How about we go for an ice cream?’ he suggests when they step into the elevator.

She almost laughs in his face. ‘An ice cream, Logan?’

‘Why not?’ he says, gruffly embarrassed. ‘It’s a Friday in July and it’s hot.’

‘Surely you have something better to do than get an ice cream with the department shrink.’

He looks down, flushing red. 

‘What’s the matter, Logan? Someone stand you up?’

‘So what if they did?’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘I never thought I'd see the day.’

‘Forget about it.’ He turns away angrily, difficult to do in such an enclosed space. 

‘No, wait,’ she says, feeling guilty as the doors open into the lobby. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Okay, then,’ he says. She feels an immediate sense of relief that she’s agreed to an ice cream when they step out of the air-conditioned marble lobby into the face-slapping heat of the city. She groans quietly as a wave of heat hits her and she turns to look at him.

‘I bet we could find an ice cream truck around the corner,’ she suggests and he nods.

‘Good idea--I don’t think I could walk far in this heat, and somehow Mr. Softee sounds like it’ll hit the spot right about now.’

She laughs at him and they slide into a comfortable silence as they make their way down Central Park West towards the Museum of Natural History. They find one two blocks away and place their orders.

‘That’ll be $4.50,’ the ice-cream man says. 

‘I’ll get it,’ she offers.

‘I can afford to buy you an ice cream, even on a detective’s salary,’ he states ungraciously.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes at this show of machismo and accepts her ice-cream cone.

‘So, Logan, tell me--who’s the unlucky lady who stood you up tonight? And why'd you invite me in her place? You can't tell me that you'd rather spend the evening with me than picking up some hot blonde in a bar somewhere.’

He flushes bright red and takes a bite out of his ice cream cone. 

‘I didn't feel like spending my birthday the same way I spend every other Friday,’ he mumbles.

‘It's your birthday?’ she says in shock.

‘Is that so surprising?’

‘I suppose I never thought of it… you always seem to me like you sprung into existence fully formed.’

‘I'm not quite Athena, Olivet.’ Noting her surprise at the reference, he says, ‘I did learn mythology in school, Catholic or not. One of the nuns had a positive passion for Odysseus.’

She flushes from embarrassment, from the assumption he would not be educated enough to catch her reference. ‘Well, we should go to dinner, then,’ she hears herself say. ‘To celebrate.’

‘You really want to spend your Friday night with a detective? Surely you have something better to do,’ he turns her statement around on her.

‘I’ll make my own decisions on how I spend my Friday night,’ she states boldly, feeling for some odd reason that a definitive stance is called for. ‘Let’s go.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Liz celebrate his birthday, then he walks her home. Their relationship progresses.

She takes him to Melon’s. It’s a place where he will feel comfortable, she hopes--long wooden bar, sticky tabletops, burgers, a jukebox, and bartenders who don’t give a damn who you are.

He takes off his jacket and slings it on the coatrack near the door, then loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves with a sigh of relief. She follows suit, shrugging out of her suit jacket, revealing her sleeveless white silk blouse. She runs her fingers through her hair so that the auburn locks fall loose about her face, and she echoes his sigh.

‘That’s better,’ he says, grinning at her. ‘Feels like work is finally over.’

She laughs, feeling loose and relaxed and for once not disconcerted and off-balance from his presence. After the stress and dramatic revelations of the afternoon, the evening suddenly has that first-day-of-vacation feeling, the heavy burden of Julie Atkinson’s recovered memories lifted aways as though they never witnessed it.

‘What can I get ya?’ the bartender asks, slapping down two cocktail napkins.

‘A Guinness,’ Logan says. ‘Liz?’

It’s the first time he says her name and she blushes involuntarily and furiously. ‘A G&T, please.’

He gives her his trademark lopsided grin, then repeats her order the bartender. Almost immediately their drinks arrive and she raises her cocktail to him.

‘Happy birthday… Mike,’ she says, looking straight into his eyes, which soften.

‘Thank you,’ he replies, and touches her glass with his. He takes a deep swallow of his stout and then leans back in his chair with a sigh of contentment.

‘So tell me,’ he says, ‘how does a lady like you know a place like this? Never would've pegged you for someone who frequented my sort of bar.’

‘Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ she says almost flirtatiously, flushing as the gin hits her, creating a spreading warmth in her stomach. ‘I grew up around the corner--in the apartment where I live now. I used to come here with my parents on weekends and then when I was in high school and college my friends and I would grab burgers here in the early hours after long nights at Dorrian’s.’

He laughs. ‘Somehow I can’t picture you out late at a bar, Doc, even if it was Dorrian’s. Tell me more about your wild and misspent youth--did you take shots and dance on tables?’

She takes another sip of her G&T and he leans forward, his knees brushing against hers for a moment. It’s easy, for a moment, to forget who he is--her patient, her colleague--and just enjoy the company of a very attractive man. She sets down her drink deliberately, looks into his dark, dark eyes, and says, ‘well--a lady never reveals her secrets.’

His face falls and she giggles, taking another swig of her drink.

‘Can I get you another one?’ he asks, but does not wait for her response, signalling the bartender for another drink. He orders a whiskey for himself and when their drinks come this time he holds his glass up to her. ‘To misspent youths,’ he says.

‘Come now, Detective, surely you’re not in your dotage yet.’

‘Not quite yet,’ he admits, flashing her a grin. ‘Plenty of life in this old dog still.’

She feels a rush of annoyance with his predictable slide back into character, frustrated that she’s forgotten herself so much as to enjoy his company, to even flirt with him a little. But before she can say anything the bartender is back again, taking their orders for dinner, and when she turns back to him he’s smiling at her gently.

‘So have you always lived in the city, then?’ he asks, a fresh drink in front of both of them.

She mentally shrugs off her annoyance; he has proven, after all, that he can conduct a relatively normal conversation without openly making passes at her. ‘We always had an apartment here but we lived most of the time in Rowayton. I always loved the city, though, and was happy when my parents decided to relocate here full-time when I started high school.’ She looks at him as she finishes her brief explanation and sees the blank, uncomprehending look in his eyes that often appears when she uses technical jargon on a case. Looking back at her words she realizes consciously, for the first time, the stark difference in their upbringings. She always knew she was lucky--she went to the best schools, traveled, had loving parents, never had to worry about money--but here in front of her is a man for whom her life is as utterly foreign to him as his is to her. She’s never had to face that realization before with anyone. With her patients, she always maintained an appropriate distance; when she started working with the 27th Precinct her entire experience was so strange to her that everyday divides such as these never occurred to her.

‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she says, standing up abruptly. ‘I’m just going to use the bathroom.’

She doesn’t wait for a response but flees to the women’s room in the back of the restaurant. Standing at the sink, she runs cold water over her wrists in a desperate attempt to relax herself. She is embarrassed, desperately so, and she can’t quite figure out why. She didn’t mean to be that person, the snobby Upper East Side shrink he obviously thinks she is. She is not that person; he is wrong about her if he thinks that, but then perhaps she is wrong about him, too. They each present an appearance to the world but perhaps--just perhaps--that was all it was. After all, in their sessions she’s caught glimpses of the man he could be beneath the surface… a hurt, emotionally scarred man, a loyal and compassionate man, a man who could be a friend--a man who deserved more from her than her sneering.

She takes a deep breath and walks out of the bathroom, though she stops at the corner of the bar before she returns to her seat. He’s sitting there, joking and laughing with a man and woman sitting next to them at the bar. Their food is in front of him but he hasn’t yet started to eat; he is simply enjoying the evening. He looks up suddenly, sees her, and smiles; she finds herself returning his smile, drawn to him, his vitality, as she always has been. When she comes back, he stands up to pull out her chair, his hand brushing her back for just a moment longer than necessary as she takes her seat.

‘Liz, this is Joe and Renee. Joe and I were in the same class at the Academy.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she says, shaking their hands.

‘Can’t believe we found ol’ Mikey here at this bar!’ Joe exclaimed. ‘Haven’t seen him in years and then, just like that, here he is. Let’s see, last time I saw you…’ he trails off, looking at Mike, then laughs. ‘Oh, yes, last time I saw you you got an assignment to the Mounted Division for mouthin’ off at the Sergeant.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ Mike says, covering his eyes with his hand. ‘You better get me another drink if you’re going to embarrass me like this!’

She looks over at Mike and is surprised to see that he’s flushed red. He quirks a grin at her and shrugs his shoulders before accepting another drink from Joe. ‘I didn’t know you were in the Mounted Division,’ she says, quietly amused, as Joe takes a sip of his beer.

‘Wasn’t in it for long!’ Joe laughs. ‘Third day on assignment, Mikey doesn’t tighten the girth, slides off the horse in the middle of patrol!’

‘Yeah, well, at least I didn’t fly head-first over my horse when yours decided to stop and investigate a pretzel on the ground,’ Mike rejoins.

‘They’ve always been like this,’ Renee leans over to confide in Liz. ‘Always trying to embarrass each other.’

‘Hey, now, Renee--someone’s gotta put him in his place!’ Joe says with a roar of laughter. Renee rolls her eyes at Liz with a smile, and she feels suddenly uncomfortable herself. She knows they think that she and Mike are dating but she doesn’t know how to dissuade them of their mistaken impression. Before she has to come up with a way to explain that they are not actually together, the man taking table assignments hollers their name.

‘That’s us--don’t let it go too long next time, hey, Mikey?’ Joe says, clapping him on the back, ‘Nice to meet you, Liz--keep Mike in line!’

‘Nice to meet you,’ she replies, ignoring Joe’s comment and the feel of Mike’s eyes on her.

He picks up his burger and takes a bite, watching her closely. She looks away and takes a bite of her own burger, looking anywhere but at him.

‘Sorry about that,’ he says carefully. ‘Joe never did learn how to keep his mouth shut.’

She is relieved he does not apologize for their mistaken impression. Looking over at him, she grins, saying, ‘I wouldn’t have missed hearing about your brief career in the Mounted Division for anything.’

‘Don’t go mentioning that to Phil, now--he’ll never let me live it down!’

She says, ‘Well, I suppose I won’t.’

‘You suppose?’ he drawls, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well, I won’t if you’ll get me another drink.’

He laughs. ‘Deal.’

 

Too many drinks later she finds herself staring into his eyes, another nearly-empty G&T in her hand as her knees brush against his. Dinner is long over but here they are, still. She hasn’t done this in so long… lost track of time, whiled away the hours with a beautifully attractive man… If he wasn’t her patient, her colleague, she could indulge in something, get him out of her system. If they’d met here, at a bar, she would have let him buy her a drink, kiss her in the street, walk her home… with everything that implied. Well, she’s let him buy her a drink already… She couldn’t have a relationship with him, even if she wanted one, but she was physically and viscerally attracted to him, and this was a problem.

‘I suppose we ought to be going,’ she forces herself to say, albeit with much reluctance. ‘It must be late.’

He takes her hand in his and looks at the watch, then laughs. ‘I think I’ve had too much to drink to read this upside down,’ he admits, though he doesn't release her hand. She fights back a shiver as she peers down at the watch face, the numbers swimming slightly as she tries to focus in the dim light.

‘It’s 12:30,’ she says with a jolt of surprise. ‘I should be going.’

‘I’ll walk you home,’ he says, his hand resting on her knee for a moment as he rises from his seat. He is a bit unsteady as he fumbles for his wallet, rejecting her offers to settle the bill with better grace this time. When she gets up she finds herself weak-kneed and reaches out for him. He takes her arm and tucks it comfortably beneath his; she leans into him, grateful for his warm, solid support.

‘Thank you,’ she calls over her shoulder to the bartender as Mike gently propels her to the exit.

‘I haven’t done that in years,’ she giggles, feeling the effects of the gin far more strongly as they step out into the hot city night. ‘I’d forgotten how much fun it is.’

‘Sometimes you just need a night like this,’ he agrees, nodding with mock seriousness. ‘Now, where's your apartment?’

‘Seventy-Sixth and Park,’ she says.

‘Very nice,’ he says, starting to walk up Third Avenue. ‘Much nicer address than mine.’

‘I like it,’ she admits. ‘Used to belong to my parents, but it’s mine now. They gave it to me when I finished college. Not convenient for the precinct, though.’

He laughs. ‘An apartment! When I left home my parents gave me a new set of sheets for a bed I couldn’t afford. Took me three months to save up for a mattress and boxspring.’

‘Oh Mike,’ she says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

‘Don’t worry--I was highly motivated to save up enough money,’ he laughs, and for once she too laughs at his innuendo.

‘Well, here we are,’ she says, stopping outside the side door of her building. She’s reluctant to walk through the lobby at this time of night, intoxicated as she is. She leans against the wall as she scrabbles through her purse for her keys.

‘Can I walk you to your door?’ he asks, suddenly so close to her. She looks up at him--he is so tall, she thinks--and nods.

She feels his presence at her back as they wait for the elevator; when she presses the button for the eighth floor he is even closer, his breath against her neck. Maybe it’s the gin, or the scent of him--cedar and leather and just the faintest hint of whiskey--but her knees go weak. She wants him; it’s as though he flicked a switch, turned her on.

‘Mike--’ she says, turning to face him, but the door opens before she can say anything more. HIs hand, now on her hip, urges her forward, and when they reach her door she struggles to fit the keys in the lock.

‘Let me,’ he says, taking the keys out of her hand. He is still standing behind her, one hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him as he unlocks the door.

‘Mike--’ she says again, pulling free from his embrace and turning to look up at him.

‘If I kiss you, will you regret it in the morning?’ he asks, resting one hand against the doorjamb.

Her eyes drop to his lips, imagining what a kiss from him would feel like… her mouth goes suddenly dry. ‘I won’t regret it,’ she replies, ‘but shouldn’t I ask you that question? I can’t imagine I’m your usual type.’

He reaches up to cup her cheek in his hand, his thumb running along her lower lip. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

‘No, you’re not,’ he whispers. ‘You’re much, much better.’

She steps backwards into her apartment and he follows her, closing the door gently behind him. He is barely a step away from her and she can feel the heat from his body.

‘I’ve wanted you from the minute I saw you,’ he continues, closing the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her waist, ‘across the squad room in the precinct, even before Max… and then afterwards, looking at you, watching you during our sessions… Jesus, Liz, you could drive a man crazy.’

She looks up at him, utterly captivated by his voice, his dark eyes looking down at her. She doesn’t believe in the powers of hypnosis but surely she is hypnotized now… she cannot look away.

She wraps her arms around his neck. Take what you want and pay for it, says God, she thinks crazily, giddily… recklessly. And--heaven help her--she wants him.

 

She wakes up at five in the morning exhausted, hot, and with a pounding headache. His arm is around her waist, warm and heavy, but she slips out of bed without disturbing him to pad silently, still undressed, through the hallway to her kitchen. It is cooler than her bedroom, and she opens the fridge to let some cold air escape as she pours herself a glass of water.

Despite her bold claims to the contrary last night she is hit only now with the enormity of her actions. She slept with a patient. It didn’t particularly matter that he wasn’t a patient on his own accord, he was still a patient and she had a responsibility to him, to help him, not to take advantage of him. So many psychiatrists had fantasies about their patients, but she never thought that would be her, she never thought that if it was she’d act on it.

She covers her eyes with her hands in a vain attempt to block out the thoughts running through her head. What would she do? Of course she had to end their doctor-patient relationship, but what would happen next? Presumably they were both adult enough to behave professionally around each other at the precinct. Hopefully that would be that, and they could move on as though nothing like this had happened.

But it had happened; oh, it had happened, and she wanted it to happen again.

‘Liz?’

She jumps as he says her name, startled by his sudden appearance. Her face flames as she realizes she hadn’t bothered to grab her robe before she walked into the kitchen, and she jumps behind the fridge door before she thinks. He laughs gently and her face flushes in embarrassment.

‘I was just getting some water,’ she explains lamely, holding up the glass in her hand. ‘Would you like any?’

‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘I can get it--where are the glasses?’

She points mutely to the cabinet above the sink and he reaches up get a glass, filling it from the sink. She watches him, noting his muscular legs and back, the surprising grace in his movements. He, at least, put on his boxers to venture into the kitchen--plaid, of course--and thus has the advantage over her.

He finishes his glass of water and refills it, then turns to look at her. ‘You all right?’

Now or never, she thinks, I must be sensible. She takes a deep breath, looking away from him. ‘Look, Logan--what we did--it was wrong.’ He doesn’t respond right away and she chances a glance at him.

He quirks an eyebrow at her. ‘Wrong? Tell me, Doc, what about that was wrong?’

‘That’s just it--I’m your doctor, your psychiatrist. We can’t do this.’

He shrugs. ‘Of course we can. You’re not the only shrink on the department payroll. Transfer my case. Problem solved.’

‘The conflict of interest is already there--’

‘Why? Because you were my shrink or because we work together?’

‘Both, but especially because we work together. Logan--’

He’s getting angry now. ‘And why is it “Logan” all of a sudden?’ he asks, slamming the glass down on the counter. ‘C’mon, Liz, be honest--you’re regretting sleeping with me, regretting getting involved with someone like me--after all, there is a huge gap between your Park Avenue life and mine--Yorkville is what, twenty blocks away? and it’s a completely different world. So yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t want to waste time on me.’

‘That’s rich,’ she spits, angry herself. ‘Are you just turning this around on me so you can swan off and not feel guilty for having a one-night stand with a colleague? You’re the one who runs through swathes of women, Detective.’ She can hear the jealousy in her voice and she feels ridiculous, standing here naked in her kitchen, engaged in an argument with a man who made her pulse race, her knees weak, for whom all the traditional rules of attraction applied...

She takes a deep breath and tries to speak calmly. ‘Look, we work together. We had a good meal and great sex… and we can leave it at that, can’t we? No strings. I’ll transfer your case first thing Monday and we can just go on being colleagues.’

‘I don’t want that. I told you I wanted you from the minute I saw you,’ he says, stepping closer to her, his voice softening.

‘It’s a common phenomena--it’s called transference. When a patient becomes attracted to his psychiatrist…’ she says, voice shaking slightly as she thinks what, exactly, she’s done. Her career! Her years of study, of helping people, potentially gone after this… and for what? A man more interested in filling his little black book than a relationship, someone who she would never bring home to meet her parents, a detective she works with, someone she’s not even sure she wants to be with...

‘The first time I saw you,’ he interrupts her. ‘Before you were my psychiatrist. Before I knew who you were. Don’t give me the mumbo-jumbo, Liz. If you want this to be it, tell me straight. No matter the differences between us, I deserve that--we deserve that.’

‘You can’t tell me that you want a relationship,’ she scoffs weakly.

‘You haven’t told me you want anything either. But I don’t just want this. I’d like to see where this goes.’

He takes the glass out of her hand, sets it down deliberately on the counter, then closes the refrigerator door. He looks her straight in the eyes and says, ‘Jesus, Liz--I might not have a Ph.D. but you can’t think I’d be stupid enough to let you get away.’

She feels herself weakening but she won’t give up, give in, without a fight--not to him. She won’t be another woman who melts at his feet with a little application of his famous charisma. ‘Ah, here’s the famous Irish charm. Tell me, Detective, what age were you when you kissed the Blarney Stone?’ she sneers gently.

He takes her in his arms and laughs; she can feel the vibrations all through her body. The storm has passed, she thinks, and she rests her head against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

‘Well, I have to tell you--I’m not interested in kissing the Blarney Stone right about now,’ he tells her, and she can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Just you. Come back to bed. It’s too early to be awake.’


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz goes home to her parents' to get some space from her changed relationship with Mike; when she returns to New York, she has to confront him.

She’s glad to get away after the trial begins and then ends, abruptly, when Julie’s father accepts a plea bargain, admitting that he’d killed her friend Tommy and buried him in the wall all those years ago. Two weeks after the closing of the case she is sure that Julie is finally well on the road to recovery. She seems settled in herself, as though she’s confronted the most terrifying and damaging aspects in her life and emerged whole at last. Confident that Julie and her other patients will be all right in her absence, she leaves the city in August for much needed and longed-for vacation.

The last month and a half has been incredibly difficult. She’s thrown herself into Julie’s therapy, working hand-in-hand with Ben Stone and Paul Robinette through every possible aspect of her testimony, teaching her coping techniques, bolstering her up so that she doesn’t fall apart on the stand. This sort of therapy is a change for her; she is used to regular clients with minor problems, not ones who have a history of institutionalization and who need their life overhauled. For as important as her testimony is, she’s also, of course, needed to work on helping Julie adjust to her new life. It has been a profound shift in her life--the foundations of her existence have proven to be sand, not solid stone, and as Julie climbs out of her depression there is much for her to do, though the most important thing is to be present for her.

But right now she is stable enough to do without her for two weeks, and she finds herself at her parents’ house in Rowayton.

And how boring it all is! She wanted to go abroad this year but working with the police department meant that her time was no longer her own. It was worth it, of course, to help people, she thinks guiltily, but as she goes downstairs from her childhood bedroom to face her mother in the kitchen she wishes she was in Bermuda with her friends from Farmington instead.

‘Please don’t tell me you’re wearing that,’ her mother says, setting down a cup of tea. ‘Really, Elizabeth, have you forgotten we’re lunching with the Ryersons at the club?’

She sighs inwardly, feeling so much like a child again that it makes her want to scream. ‘Yes, Mother, I’d forgotten. I’ll go up and change now, shall I?’

‘Good idea. We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.’

Life, even in this idyllic town, had its own inconveniences and strictures, and as she changes into a simple linen shift she regrets her precipitous flight from the city. At least she had her freedom there, as busy and stressful as it was. Her face flushes as she recalls what, precisely, that freedom entailed.

She’s avoided him since that night--or attempted to, at least. Despite his protestations that he’s wanted her for a long time, she is reluctant to believe the words of a self-acknowledged womanizer. Besides--she needs time to think, time to readjust her way of thinking.

She is relieved that she could transfer his case without a murmur, for she claimed their now-close working relationship was putting an undue strain on any progress she could hope to make. At least that was finished, but she still committed the gravest sin of her profession.

It’s been easy enough to avoid the precinct as much as she can. She has requested that any interviews she is to conduct with witnesses take place in her office, which effectively cuts Mike Logan’s access to her in half. But when she interviews suspects she has to return to the precinct, and there he has sought her out--but she has claimed appointments or paperwork or anything else to avoid his gaze.

Despite these avoidance tactics over the past month and a half he hasn’t lost interest. It surprises her, if she’s honest--she thought his attention span would be far shorter than it is. Of course she hears him talk to Phil about his latest weekend conquests, but he seems to take less interest in describing the details than he did in the past--or is that wishful thinking? But she is jealous of the women he flaunts and it makes it difficult to be near him even though they do not speak of what passed between them. It sharpens her wit and causes her to let loose her tongue in debriefings. 

The most memorable of their exchanges occurred when she interviewed a man who, in a drunken stupor, murdered his lover for apparently cheating on him. She attempts to dredge up his memories, though she is not very successful.

‘Are you ever gonna get anything more outta him?’ Mike asks roughly.

‘He knew exactly what he was doing, but he will be able to plead diminished capacity. I doubt he’ll ever remember fully, but things are coming back. It’s not only a function of the alcohol, it’s also the brain protecting itself.’

He raises an eyebrow at her and she flushes suddenly, memories of their own drunken night together coming back in a rush. And it wasn’t all drunken, either--that morning--she meets his gaze and she knows he’s remembering it too; his eyes go dark and he shifts in his seat.

She changes the subject in a rush, standing up to leave carefully without looking at him. ‘Look, I’m all booked up tomorrow, but I’ll write up my report first thing in the morning. I do realize there’s a rush on this, so I’ll make it a priority.’

‘Thanks, Doc,’ Phil Cerreta says, and she gives him a smile before she leaves the building.

‘Elizabeth!’ her mother calls, and she sighs again.

‘Coming!’

 

She returns to the city a few days early, citing a patient emergency as an excuse although there is no such issue. She unpacks after the drive and returns the brightly-patterned shifts to the back of her closet. Somehow she always feels awkward wearing her Lilly Pulitzer and Lanz sundresses in the city, as though she is playing at dress-up. She grew up in these clothes but after Farmington, when she went to Barnard, she set them aside for solid colors that did much to dispel the boarding-school aura she seemed to carry with her when she started college. But of course in Rowayton she reverted to type, she thinks, the type that was expected of her. She knows that her parents are not-so-quietly awaiting the day she brings home the proper man, someone she meets at the University Club or at Dorrian’s. She’s thirty-one now and she’s done much with her life, but not that.

Her desire to work with the police department raised more than a few eyebrows at her house. 

‘But why?’ her mother asks. ‘You were doing so well in private practice--you had the right sort of clients, dear, and things were going well.’

‘I want to help people,’ she insists.

‘But you are, dear, of course.’

‘It’s not enough.’

At that her mother sniffed and changed the subject.

Her father was marginally more supportive, though her interaction with “the criminal element,” as he deemed it, made him nervous.

‘I’ll be surrounded by police officers the entire time,’ she tells him, annoyed by them both at this point.

‘That’s not the point, is it? And what about those “dirty cops”?’

She stopped discussing work with them at that point, simply stating that it was going well and downplaying any involvement in cases.

Even if she and Mike were together she could never bring him home to meet them, she thinks. No, he is not the sort of man they want for her, not at all, and she could just picture how upset they would be.

This line of thought isn’t productive; she is frustrated with her self-indulgence on these topics, things that emphatically don’t bear thinking about. She might as well do something useful--check her mail, her answering machine, perhaps call into the office. She completes the first two tasks quickly, sorting the mail neatly into letters that need replies, bills, junk mail, and those to read later; then she listens to the few messages on her machine. She looks down at her watch--three o’clock, enough time to call into the office and get a head start on any work that may have accumulated.

‘Oh, thank goodness you’re back!’ her assistant Lee says. ‘I called your parents’ house and your mother said you were on your way home. I swear, you must be a mind reader. The precinct called, and Detective Logan said it was an emergency.’

‘Did he say what sort of emergency?’ she asks calmly, disguising the leap of her heart at his name.

‘He didn’t give me any details--just said that someone is claiming God told him to murder a subway conductor.’

‘I’ll give the precinct a call,’ she assures her, then hangs up the phone.

She doesn’t want to call the precinct. She really doesn’t want to talk to Mike, let alone analyze a potential schizophrenic. But this is her job, and it’s an emergency, so she rings the precinct and says she’s coming in.

Mike is in with the suspect and his lawyer when she arrives; Cragen and Phil are waiting outside the interrogation room.

‘Sorry for dragging you back from your vacation, Doc,’ Cragen says. ‘But the psych on call had an emergency appendectomy this morning and everyone else is out of town and much further away than you.’

She sighs--she should have gone to Bermuda after all--but nods. ‘That’s all right. Let me assure you that spending time with my parents wasn’t a bed of roses.’

Phil laughs. ‘My kids say that about me, too. Just wait, Doc, till you have your own--you’ll be suddenly appreciative of someone else taking care of you!’

She raises an eyebrow and nods, accepting his words but disbelieving them in her particular case. They watch in silence as Mike tries to rattle the suspect, try to shake him from his stubborn and repeated statement that the only reason he did anything was because the voices told him to.

‘Is he schizo, d’you think, Doc?’ Phil asks her after about twenty minutes of observation.

She gives her response in carefully measured tones, barely paying attention to her words. She realizes that she’s never watched Mike at work like this and she is captivated. So Logan-As-Detective had another facet, that of interrogator, she thinks, and another piece of the puzzle falls into place, forming a fuller picture of him.

Suddenly the door is flung open and Mike himself struts out, stopping short when he sees Liz.

‘Well, he’s all yours, Doc,’ he tells her after a moment when neither of them can speak but simply stare. She nods and enters the interrogation room.

‘I’m Dr. Olivet,’ she says, sitting down in the chair he’s just vacated. ‘I’m the police psychologist, and I’d like to ask you a few questions…’

 

Four hours later, after listening to the suspect talk himself in circles, she emerges exhausted. It wasn’t a good idea to check in at the office after all--she’s out of practice after dealing with only the Rowayton element over the past week and a half. She is grateful, at least, that her discussion was taped, for she thinks she might need to reference it later. Phil and Mike lead her over to their desks, where Phil gets her a cup of coffee and she dictates her synopsis to Mike, avoiding his eyes as much as possible. When she finishes, she leans back in her chair, ready to go home.

‘Are you all right, Doc?’ Phil asks.

‘Just tired--let me tell you, it wasn’t quite as unpleasant as a country club lunch, but it came close,’ she quips weakly.

‘I’ll drive you home,’ Mike offers offhandedly.

‘That’s all right,’ she says, ‘I’ll just take a cab.’

‘At nine on a Saturday night? And it’s pouring, you’ll never get one.’

She looks out the window and notes with surprise that it is indeed raining.

‘He doesn’t bite, Doc,’ Phil jokes. ‘And be nice to him, it might encourage him to be more courteous.’

She offers him a small smile at that.

‘All right, thank you,’ she accepts with dread at the conversation to come.

 

They walk out of the precinct in uncomfortable silence, she following half a step behind as he leads her to his car. To her surprise, he unlocks the car and then holds her door open for her.

‘Thank you,’ she says, and slides into the seat. He nods without a smile and then climbs into the driver’s seat. They fight their way through the rain and traffic in complete silence. She cannot stop looking at him, though--the way his hands clench on the wheel, the nervous tapping of his left foot when stopped at a light, the deep furrow between his eyes when he’s thinking hard. She notes, too, his quick glances over at her, as though to reassure himself that she’s still there. When they pull up to her block, he finds a spot and parks.

‘Thank you, Logan,’ she says, about to open the door. His hand shoots out to grab her wrist, stilling her movements, and she turns to face him.

‘We need to talk, Liz.’

‘I don’t think we do.’

‘You know as well as I that we do. I shouldn’t be the one encouraging you to open up--that’s your job, remember?’ he jokes weakly, though it falls flat, and she realizes just how important this is to him. ‘So, we can talk here in the car or we can go up to your apartment or out to dinner, but we are going to talk about that night.’

‘Fine,’ she snaps, annoyed that she’s allowed herself to be trapped in this manner, that she has to face what she’s been avoiding.

‘Good,’ he says, and lets go of her hand. ‘Let’s go.’

She is unfortunately without an umbrella, and so is he, so they make a dash for her door. Despite the short distance, by the time they reach the awning they are soaked through. The doorman raises a single eyebrow in surprise, though says nothing but a murmured ‘good evening, Dr. Olivet.’ She nods and forces a smile, then practically pulls Mike behind her through the lobby and to the elevator. She remembers their last elevator ride, his breath on her neck, his hands on her waist, and represses the memory quickly. When the elevator arrives at her floor, she leads the way quickly down the corridor, not stopping to look behind her to see if he is following her.

A cursory glance at him shows that he’ll drip all over her floor if she doesn’t give him something to change into, and she tells him that. ‘Wait right here,’ she says, and goes into the bathroom. She grabs a few large towels and her robe--a men’s large Turkish cotton robe that should fit him. She thrusts them into his arms. ‘You can change in the bathroom,’ she says, and waits until the door is closed to go to her bedroom to change into comfortable clothes--a pair of leggings and an old Wellfleet Oysters t-shirt. He’ll be here for hours, surely, but if she hangs his clothes above the bathtub hopefully they’ll dry quickly and then he can go. She goes into the kitchen and starts brewing coffee; she is cold all of the sudden, and if she hadn’t given him the bathroom she would blow-dry her hair.

The coffee finishes brewing just as he emerges from the bathroom. The robe is too short for him, exposing his muscled calves, but it fits enough to gape only a little at his chest.

‘I hung my clothes from the shower rod,’ he says. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that wet in such a short amount of time.’

‘Nor me,’ she says, feeling stilted again. She brings the coffee into the living room and sits down on the sofa; he sits at the opposite end, looking at her.

‘That night, Liz--’

She opens her mouth to cut him off, but closes it again. She doesn’t know what he wants to say and she should, at least, hear him out. He won’t be leaving for some time and she doesn’t relish the thought of an uncomfortable hour in silence.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, but when she looks back at him, her psychologist mask firmly in place, he changes tack.

‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

‘What makes you think that?’ she asks, trying to remain cool.

‘It’s obvious--seein’ witnesses in your office instead of the precinct, refusin’ to come to lunch with me and Phil--you don’t want to see me. So, my question is--are you regrettin’ it?’

She notes abstractedly that his city accent becomes thicker when he is agitated.

‘Liz.’

‘We have nothing in common,’ she replies weakly--an excuse, and not a good one, but the only one she can think of.

‘That’s not an answer,’ he tells her. ‘And anyway, it’s not true. We have this,’ he says, reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand. ‘And we work together. There’s common ground there, at least.’

‘We want different things.’

‘Well, what do you want?’ he asks. ‘You’ve never said.’

She looks away from him. What does she want? Well, she wants him--it would be futile to deny it. Put her near him and her pulse raced, her palms went damp, she felt a deep pang of desire low in her belly. But does she want him in her life or just in her bed? He is still touching her, though he’s moved his hand from her cheek to her neck, his thumb rubbing gentle circles at the nape. It makes it impossible to think, and she feels herself respond to his touch, leaning into him.

When she looks up into his eyes she sees a hint of triumph there, smug in the knowledge that he knew how to make her melt.

‘You can’t tell me you don’t want this,’ he says. ‘I know you do.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I want it too. Liz--I gotta say--since that night I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’

She laughs, breaking the spell. ‘You sound like a bad chick flick. Besides, I know that’s not the case. What about the “sexy brunette with the long legs” you met at a bar last month? You told Phil and half the precinct about her in excruciating detail.’

He laughs at her. ‘That was you!’

‘What?’ she asks, floored. She leans back against the arm of her sofa, all thoughts of desire forgotten.

‘Well, he always expects a story… and what else could I tell him? Obviously I didn’t tell him it was you,’ he hastens to reassure her. ‘And I won’t claim that I’m a choirboy, but Liz--there’s something here, even if it is just great sex.’

‘So I’m the best kisser you’ve ever met?’ she asks with interest, her mind still stuck on a month-old conversation.

He blushes, and she watches him with all the curiosity of a small child seeing a lion at the zoo for the first time, for this is an equally foreign experience. ‘I didn’t think you’d heard that,’ he mumbles.

‘Mike, you practically shouted it from the roof,’ she says, and smiles, oddly flattered by this ranking despite its misogynistic identity.

‘Well, what can I say?’ he says, amused and flustered at the same time. ‘I’m tellin’ you, Lizzie--’

She raises an eyebrow at the diminutive, and he flushes again.

‘I’m starving,’ she says, standing up. ‘Shall we order Chinese?’

‘That’s it?’ he splutters. ‘That’s all you have to say?’

‘What else would you have me say?’

‘I’d have you answer my question! What do you want?’

‘Chinese, I just said,’ she tells him, in control once more, teasing him.

He stands up suddenly, revealing the shortness of the robe on his six foot four frame and she bursts into laughter.

‘What now?’ he asks, exasperated.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, suddenly doubled over with giggles. ‘You just look ridiculous in that thing.’

He looks down at the robe and then back up at her. ‘Come here,’ he says.

She can’t stop laughing. ‘Why?’

He crosses to her in three strides and takes her in his arms; still laughing, she stretches up to kiss him.

‘God, I want you, Lizzie,’ he whispers when he breaks the kiss. ‘I dunno what it is about you--’

‘Stop talking,’ she says, pulling him down to kiss her again. She doesn’t want to hear endearments, the sweet little lies that all men whisper when they want a woman. She just wants him, here, now. He lets out a moan as she slips a hand inside the robe, running her fingers along his chest. Her other hand snakes around to the back of his neck, holding him to her.

He’s so tall. She feels dainty and delicate beside him, her slim form pressed up against his solidity. And he is solid, she feels it, her narrow hips nestled against his, her slender arms holding him tight.

Though he was caught off guard by her desire, he quickly catches up, one hand exploring the skin beneath her tshirt, another cupping her bottom, drawing her close. It feels different from that night, that morning, she realizes. Different, better--less desperate, though she wants him more, if possible. She knows that he can move her.

When his roving hand slips down her leggings she knows she cannot wait any longer. She can feel him growing hard against her and God, she wants him. She unties the robe and pushes it off his shoulders, then steps back and laughs.

‘What?’ he growls.

‘Does everything you own have to be plaid?’

‘If it bothers you, I can just--’

‘Take them off? Good idea,’ she interrupts, grinning as she hooks her thumbs in his boxers and tugs them down.

‘That’s not fair,’ he tells her, standing unselfconsciously in front of her. ‘You’re overdressed.’

‘What are you going to do about it?’ she teases him.

‘D’you really want to test me, Olivet?’ he grins wickedly. ‘Come here and let me show you.’

‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘I think I like the way things are right now.’

‘And I think that things could be more fun if you came here.’

‘But I like the view from where I am,’ she says, her eyes running down his body. She fights back a blush as she listens to herself, drunk from desire and sounding like the wanton heroine out of a terrible romance novel. But he likes it, she can tell, and she feels a small surge of triumph that she can arouse him like this.

She looks into his eyes and slowly, without breaking her gaze, she begins to undress. She put on leggings and a ratty old tshirt to offset the intimacy of speaking to him in her apartment and now she wishes she’d put on something a little nicer. Well, no matter--she can take everything off.

The effect her slow and not-very-erotic striptease has on him is completely gratifying. He can’t take his eyes off her, and for a moment she thinks that of all the women he has seen, of all the women he’s wanted, he wants her right now. It’s flattering; it’s thrilling. It is also oddly liberating to be wanted solely for her body--she doesn’t have to worry about being her best self--she can simply follow her instincts.

By the time she’s shed her clothes and stands before him in only her underwear he cannot wait any longer.

‘You’ve proven your point,’ he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other eagerly. ‘Yes, the view from here is very nice too. Lizzie--’

No one’s ever called her Lizzie--she’s hated that particular diminutive, thinking it infantile--but she likes the way it sounds on his lips.

‘Yes, Mike?’ she asks, stepping towards him. He immediately closes the distance, wraps his arms around her, and gives her a kiss that surprises her with its passion and intensity. He unfastens her bra and she lets go of him to take it off completely and toss it behind her somewhere. Still kissing her, he walks her backward into her bedroom, one arm out behind her to ensure they don’t bump into anything. When they reach the bedroom at last he topples her backwards onto the bed, standing above her.

‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ he says, his voice so low it is almost a growl. He reaches down and pulls off her underwear, then straightens up again, running one hand along her thigh.

‘Mike,’ she says, and she is shocked by the sound of her voice, deep and husky. She stops thinking as he joins her on the bed, straddling her.

She feels like she’s on fire, the kisses he leaves in a path from her neck to her breasts to her stomach burning. She can barely move, so aroused is she, and when he gently spreads her thighs she lets out a moan.

‘Want--you--’ he groans, entering her.

‘God!’ she cries as he moves within her, one of his hands at her hips, one lower. He suddenly stops, reaches up and takes a pillow from the head of the bed, then slips it beneath her hips. He begins thrusting again and it’s better than that first time, better than anything she’s experienced before. Her hands scrabble for the edge of the mattress, anchoring herself as she moves her hips in time with his. Her legs are around his back as he pushes into her once more with a cry; the feel of him pushes her over the edge. He falls on top of her, his solid weight covering her.

After a moment he rolls off, settling next to her. She turns to face him, not quite touching him, but close enough that she can feel the heat of his body all along her side.

His eyes are closed and his breathing is ragged. She doesn’t know what to do, to say.

‘You might very well be the death of me, Liz Olivet,’ he says, smiling, though his eyes are still closed.

She blushes furiously--she rarely flushes otherwise, he has a detrimental effect on her in this regards--and quips, ‘perhaps you should build up your endurance, then, Logan. I’m sure an extra mile’s run every morning will get you fighting fit.’

He opens his eyes and looks at her. ‘Oh, you think that, do you?’ He pulls her close, running one hand slowly down her back. She shivers from desire--already? she thinks, then, oh, yes--as he kisses her.

She slips one leg over him, her turn to take initiative, as she begins slowly exploring his body with fingers, lips, and tongue. She knew he was built well but she hadn’t the leisure to explore thoroughly before. She moves slowly, taking her time to trace his nipple with her tongue, listening to him groan, as she works her way down his body. All self-consciousness melts away with his gratifying response to her ministrations, the way his hands caress her breasts. He clearly enjoys her touch, as detailed as it is, for she can feel him growing harder. When she reaches his cock, she sits back on his thighs, taking him in her hand and stroking him. She feels powerful, desirable; he is completely at her mercy.

‘I’m close, Lizzie--’ he warns her, but she can tell. She finally lowers herself on top of him, gasping as he fills her completely.

‘God, Mike,’ she moans, unable to help herself, moving her hips quicker, ‘I’m so full of you and it feels so wonderful--’

‘Jesus, Lizzie, you’re incredible--’

She looks down at him--his eyes are closed and she can tell he is about to come. So is she--she is so close, the sight of him, the sound of her name on his lips is thrilling and thoroughly arousing, and the feel of him inside her, filling her-- She tries to go slowly but it’s hard with his hands on her hips, guiding her, bringing her down again and again as she moves on top of him. His breathing is ragged and she throws her head back when she starts to come; he grips her hips harder, bringing her down on him once, twice, more before he cries out her name and she subsides, exhausted, atop his chest. 

After a few minutes he rolls over, bringing her with him so that they are lying on their sides and looking into each other’s eyes.

‘You might be right,’ he says, grinning like the cat that’s got the cream. She knows she must look the same, languid and sated and filled with well-being.

‘About what?’ she asks him lazily, stretching and moving closer to him.

‘I should start working on my endurance. The extra work would be worth it if this is the reward.’

She laughs, moving even closer. He traps one of her legs between his and wraps an arm around her waist.

‘I must say, I’m very impressed, Dr. Olivet. Who knew that your polished exterior hid such passion?’

She closes her eyes, pillowing her head against his shoulder. She yawns sleepily. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

He strokes her hair. ‘Mm. Full of surprises. When am I gonna discover some more?’

‘We’ll see,’ she murmurs, and falls asleep.

 

‘Liz. Lizzie--’ his voice, insistent, pulls her out of a dream in which his hands are all over her, his lips on her neck. She struggles up out of the thoroughly satisfying dream to the sight of his eyes looking down at her, his erection pressed firmly against her belly. She is already aroused and his hand is between her legs, creating all sorts of pleasurable sensations. Rolling onto her back, she opens her arms to him, realizing that her dream was reality. He is on top of her instantly, guiding himself into her. He is demanding and she responds with equal vigor, half-stuck still in her dream. He is silent and intent this time, driving into her with force, but she doesn’t mind.

‘Mike--ah, ah!’ she cries, nails digging into his shoulders as she arches her back, pressing herself into him as she comes suddenly, clenching around him. When he comes, too, he pulls her close, his weight covering her, his face pressed against her neck. He kisses her beneath her ear, running a hand along her hip, then rolls onto his side.

‘I’m going to get some water, d’you want some?’ he asks. She nods in response, watching as he walks towards the kitchen.

When he leaves, she pushes down the covers and looks down at her body. She is sore and he has marked her, but she is humming with happiness and satisfaction. She rolls over on her side and winces as overused muscles stretch. He’s insatiable, his reputation clearly well-deserved. But he’s good--he’s not like some of the other men she’s been with. He makes sure she is satisfied and he makes her feel so good. No wonder women line up outside his door.

He comes back in bearing two glasses of water; handing one to her, he settles on the edge of the bed. She scoots up, leaning back against the headboard, and takes a large gulp of water. She sets the glass down and then slips back beneath the covers. He sets down his glass and then rests his hand on her knee.

‘I’m gonna take a shower and then I should get going,’ he says.

She is surprised by her reaction, that she feels upset at his words, that she wants him to stay.

‘All right,’ she says. She doesn’t want to ask the questions that spring to mind--why? When will I see you again? What’s happening between us?

He leans over to kiss her and she deepens the kiss almost immediately, running her hand up his knee. She wants him to stay… but he breaks away from her after a moment with a grin.

‘Well, honey, I wish I could pursue that line of inquiry, but I gotta head out. Phil and I have some interviews this morning and I’ve gotta get home and change.’

‘All right,’ she says again, unsure how else to respond.

‘I’ll give you a call later, hmm? Maybe we can meet up for a drink?’

‘That sounds nice,’ she says, her heart giving a telltale, betraying flutter.

‘Great. Now, why don’t you go back to sleep for a bit? It’s still early.’

She nods in agreement, yawning slightly as she slips deeper under the covers. He squeezes her wrist and kisses her once more before leaving the room. She hears the shower turn on but she falls asleep before he finishes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Liz learn their relationship isn't, and won't be, smooth sailing. Liz reconnects with a childhood sweetheart.

She wakes up hours later and rolls over to look at her clock--it’s noon, and she sits up in surprise. She’s rarely slept so late in recent years, but, to be fair, she had had a busy night. She yawns and stretches languidly; she can still smell him, and she wants him back in her bed.

She shakes her head and climbs out of her bed, stripping the bed and setting the sheets aside. She’ll send out her laundry this morning; she will also go to the Met, pick up some groceries, and perhaps get a manicure. She will not--emphatically not--sit around her apartment waiting for his call.

But it’s hard to concentrate. Even the soothing pastel tones of the Impressionist wing at the Met do not capture, let alone keep her attention.

‘You’re being utterly ridiculous, Liz,’ she tells herself as she walks out of the museum. ‘This is Logan--Mike Logan! Your former patient, a man more comfortable drinking a beer in a dive bar than a cocktail anywhere. Someone with whom you have nothing in common--why are you making a fool of yourself?’

When she gets home carrying bags of groceries the light on her answering machine is indeed flashing. She forces herself to unpack the groceries, wash her hands, and change into more comfortable clothes before she listens to her messages.

Message left at 4:34 P.M.

‘Hi, Liz, it’s Jim Kittredge. I was wondering if you were free sometime this week for dinner? It was great to see you this week and I’d love to continue catching up. You can call me back at 555-6184.’

Beep.

Message left at 6:12 P.M.

‘Hey, it’s me. Interviews are taking ages and also we’ll need you tomorrow to come back in and interview the suspect again. Is that okay? I’ll leave a message at your office too. Wanna meet me at Phil Hughes later? Call me back at the precinct.’

No more messages.

She feels her heart race and she takes her time, walking over to the fridge to pour herself a glass of ice water. Will she call him back? She knows she will… she finds her address book and dials his number at the precinct.

‘Mike Logan.’

‘It’s Liz.’

She can hear the smile in his voice as he responds. ‘Well, hello there. Didya get my message?’

‘I did, yes. What time do you need me to come in tomorrow?’

‘First thing, if you can--but let’s talk about that over dinner, hmm? Can you meet me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great. I can’t wait to see you--I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day. Meet me in an hour?’

‘All right. I’ll see you then.’

She hangs up the phone, but not before she hears Phil Cerreta say ‘well, Mikey, I’ve rarely seen you so infatuated by anyone…’ She smiles.

Throwing open her closet, she looks at the dresses hanging up in orderly lines. She’s been to Phil Hughes before, in college, and wearing either of her standard uniforms--Rowayton or the city--would make her stand out like a sore thumb. She eventually decides on a simple light green shift, cardigan, and flat sandals. Running a brush through her hair, she takes a deep breath, collects her purse, and then goes downstairs to hail a cab.

He’s waiting for her at the bar, a beer and a G&T in front of him. She slides into the seat next to him and smiles at him.

He leans over and kisses her deeply, surprising her though she responds immediately, without thought. When he breaks the kiss, he rests his hand possessively on her knee.

‘Got you a G&T,’ he says, sliding the drink in front of her. She accepts it and raises it to her lips with relief after the hot evening outside.

‘How were the interviews?’ she asks.

He lets out a sigh, then takes a deep swig of his beer. ‘God, it was difficult. So many lying witnesses, it was exhausting. We’ll need to go back to the source--that’s why we need you to come in tomorrow, if you can, first thing. I’ll drive you in,’ he grins wickedly. ‘No need to bother with the subway.’

‘Hmm, well, if you put it like that,’ she says, feeling her body start to hum again. She shifts in her seat and she takes another drink of her cocktail.

His hand slides up her knee to her upper thigh and his thumb rubs small circles there.

‘Mike--’

‘Yes?’ he asks, looking at her. ‘Are you hungry, Liz? We could grab some food.’

‘Sure,’ she says.

‘Wanna eat at the bar, grab a table, or go somewhere else?’

‘The bar is fine,’ she says, knowing he feels more comfortable here and wanting to get this meal over with. She wants him back in her bed… she’s never felt like this before, never so driven by desire. But then again she has never had so satisfying a partner.

‘Great. Then, maybe, d’you want to come back to my place?’ He is endearingly diffident, looking at her through his lashes. She looks away from him, heart fluttering.

‘All right. Should we order?’

He squeezes her knee as he gestures for menus.

‘How was your day? What’d you do?’

She takes a sip of her drink. ‘Nothing much. Laundry, grocery shopping, went to the Met. I hadn’t been all summer.’

‘I’ve only been once.’

‘Once?’ she splutters on her drink. ‘Only once?’

He shrugs unconcerned. ‘Fifth-grade field trip for art class. Always liked the Natural History Museum, though.’

She doesn’t know what to say. The Met has been her favorite place for years and she has no idea who she would be without museums, culture, art in her life.

‘Does that surprise you?’ he asks.

She lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, looking down into her glass. She is saved from a response when the bartender slides their food in front of them and she takes a large bite of her club sandwich.

‘So, d’you like the Mets or the Yankees?’ he asks, changing the subject.

‘The Yankees--you?’

‘Thank God!’ he says with relief, then launches into a long monologue about the chances of the Yankees against the Red Sox. She eats, listening to him abstractedly, for she is not that interested in sports.

‘You look bored,’ he says.

She laughs. ‘Well, I’m not that interested in sports. I mean, I will root for the home team, but...’

‘I bet I could change your mind. How about we go to a game this week?’

‘Mike Logan--are you asking me out on a date?’ she asks, astonished.

‘So what if I am?’

She feels off-kilter. He’s not supposed to do that, is he? Not supposed to ask her out… she likes what they have now, doesn’t know that she wants to change anything, spend time with him like this. But she absolutely, emphatically wants him in her bed.

‘All right,’ she agrees. ‘When’s the next game?’

‘Thursday afternoon, 5 P.M. I have the afternoon off… Can you make it?’

‘Let me check tomorrow, but I should be free.’

‘Great,’ he grins. ‘Now, are you ready to go? I’m dying to get you into bed, Liz, especially after this morning…’

She blushes, ducking her head. She’s not used to men like this, men who are so upfront about what they want. She always thought this was crass--she wants poetry, but with Mike-- ‘You’re insatiable.’

He slips his fingers under her chin and she looks into his eyes. ‘Can you blame me?’ he asks, smiling at her. ‘Let’s go.’

They walk out of the bar and down the street. He lives a few blocks away on 87th and 3rd in a fairly decent building--no doorman, but it is clean and there is a nice lobby. They take the tiny elevator up to the third floor.

‘It’s not as nice as yours, of course, but it’s home,’ he says, opening up the door. He’s right--the apartment is a typical bachelor pad, but it is relatively clean. There’s a bag of clean laundry on his sofa, jackets draped across the chairs at his table, and the kitchen has a few bottles of whiskey on the counter. There’s a record player and quite a nice stereo player next to the television and VCR, piles of tapes in the TV console, and a guitar in the corner. There isn’t much hanging on the wall--a poster of Yankee Stadium, a bulletin board filled with snapshots--a complete contrast to her well-decorated apartment.

‘D’you want something to drink?’ he asks.

She sets down her handbag on the table, then shrugs out of her cardigan.

‘No,’ she says.

He steps over to her, resting his hands on her waist. ‘D’you want to go to bed?’

Yes please! she wants to yell, wants to wrap her arms around his neck and cast herself into his embrace, run her hands down his chest, wants him inside her…

‘You with me, Lizzie?’ he asks, his voice low. He raises his hand and brushes back a curl from her face, then twirls it around his finger. He lowers his head to kiss her jaw and she shivers. God, how can he do this to her? How can he so consistently make her melt…?

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

Every time he grins it weakens her knees. Does he know what he does to her?

He leads the way down the hallway to his bedroom. She is surprised that his bed is made--that’s not something she expected from him.

He takes her in his arms and unzips her shift. ‘Can I hang this up for you?’

She nods, watching as he opens his closet and reveals a few suits, shirts, and a rack of primarily plaid ties. She kicks off her sandals and sits on the bed in her underwear, giggling.

‘There’s so much plaid!’ she laughs, noticing now his plaid sheets. ‘Dear Lord, Mike, it’s practically your leitmotif at this point.’

‘Yeah, I guess that your refrain of “so much plaid!” could be set to music,’ he says.

She raises an eyebrow.

‘What can I say? I love music,’ he says, and she can hear a hint of defensiveness in his tone. God, how different they are! How can they ever have anything if she is constantly surprised by knowledge she suspects he doesn’t have, the gulf in their lives, the way it began…

She watches him undress, his movements jerky. She’s hurt him, hasn’t she? How could she…? but she has. 

‘Will you come to bed?’ she asks him, deflecting their attention from a contentious subject. 

‘In a minute,’ he says, then walks out of the room.

She lies back on the bed and looks up at the ceiling, listening to him move in the other room. This is not what she wanted--the stress of a relationship, tiptoeing around hurting each other. It’s hard… 

When he comes back in she stands up to meet him, wrapping her arms around him. His embrace is oddly impersonal and she pulls back.

‘Mike--’

‘You know what? I’m a bit tired,’ he says.

She’s flabbergasted. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah, you know, it’s been a long day.’

She feels humiliated. She knows it’s a coping mechanism--he shuts down every time someone gets too close, unwilling to be vulnerable. He was her patient after all… but how can she go about fixing this? She has this knowledge, she knows the why, but she has no idea what to do next. Well no, that’s not quite true. She could show her own vulnerability, her fear that he will reject her because she’s not good enough in bed for him or attractive enough to keep his attention. She could just tell him how very much he is wanted. After the physical and emotional abuse he suffered at the hands of his mother, surely his philandering makes sense. He looks for someone wherever he goes, someone who will want him, someone he can let down instead of the other way around. But she’s different. He chases women who are less intelligent than him, women who could never challenge him. But she does, doesn’t she? And the fact that she cares--not because he was her patient, not because she finds him so satisfying in bed--surely means that she cares because she cares about him. Those telltale signs--the fluttering heart, the weak knees--well, she knows what they mean, even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself. And Mike--he cares and it’s so painfully obvious it nearly breaks her heart.

She sits back down on the bed and looks up at him. ‘I want you so much,’ she tells him. ‘God, Mike, the thought of you--I had to force myself to stay out of my apartment all day. I didn’t want you to know that I was simply waiting for you to call me back… I wanted you to stay this morning. That’s what I wanted--all I wanted.’ She reaches out and takes his hand in hers, drawing it to her chest so that he can feel the quick beating of her heart. ‘Can you feel that?’ she asks. ‘Put me near you and my pulse does its best to win the Kentucky Derby. If you are in any doubt--’

He cuts her off with a kiss, bearing her back onto the bed. This time is slow, gentle. He removes the remainder of her clothing with exquisite care. He covers her body with kisses, working his way down. He will not let her reciprocate, but holds her wrists above her head with one strong hand. When at last he enters her, she feels a great sigh of relief leave his body, and her heart skip a beat.

Later, when he is lying next to her, she finally allows herself to trace the strong lines of his face with gentle fingers. She smooths the strong eyebrows, feels the traces of stubble on his cheek, runs her finger down the defined bridge of his nose, the surprisingly soft lips. She will sleep wrapped in his arms forever, if she could.

‘Mm, Lizzie, you know you’re gorgeous, don’t you? You know that I want you…’ he murmurs, trailing lazy kisses along her collarbone.

She closes her eyes and lets herself drift off to sleep with endearments ringing in her ears.

 

He wakes her up early in the morning. ‘Lizzie, we should wash up before we go,’ he says, nuzzling her neck. ‘Should I start the shower?’

‘Mm, yes,’ she agrees, drawing his arms around her. ‘Mike, do we really need to go in today? We could play hooky, couldn’t we?’ She feels satisfied and happy--but then this whole weekend has been lazy and self indulgent. ‘God, Mike, I’ve never--’ she breaks off.

‘Never what?’ he asks.

‘Never been so satisfied before in my entire life,’ she admits honestly, after a moment.

‘Just satisfied?’ he asks her, laughing a bit, stroking her stomach. ‘Guess I have to try harder. Maybe later this week?’

‘Maybe this morning,’ she says, laughing herself. She wiggles out of his embrace and moves to the bathroom. ‘I’ll get the shower started.’

She steps into the shower as soon as it’s warm. He joins her a few moments later, running his hands down her body.

‘How can I still want you so much, hmm? Have you cast some sort of spell on me, Lizzie?’

She slips her hands around his waist, resting her forehead against his chest. How can he make her feel like this? He was right, what he said--there was something between them, and even if it is just great sex…

‘We should get ready to go,’ she says. 

‘But it’s so early! We have so much time…’ he says, trailing kisses down her neck.

She laughs at him as he turns off the water and backs her against the shower wall. She wraps a leg around his hips as he lifts her up.

‘You want me, don’t you?’ he asks, nipping her collarbone. ‘Don’t you? Say it, Liz. Say what you want. Tell me that you want me...’

‘Oh, yes,’ she admits, moaning as he lowers her hand to her crux. ‘Oh, God, I want you, I want you…’

‘How?’ he asks, his voice a growl. He kisses her neck, moving lower, and she runs her hands down her back, pulling him closer. ‘How do you want me? What do you want?’

‘Mike, we have work--’ she says, voice breathy as he continues to kiss her.

‘You’re the one who wants to play hooky,’ he says with a wicked grin. ‘I’m just obliging you… and now it’s your turn. What do you want?’

‘You, you,’ she whispers, looking into his dark eyes, her lips parted. Her voice turns into a moan as he sets her down gently, then kneels between her legs. She feels his lips on her inner thighs, and she grips his shoulders tightly as she cries his name, barely aware of anything but the pleasure he brings her. She is so close to release that when he suddenly stands up she yelps in frustration.

‘Mike!’ she cries, so worked up she can barely speak. He looks down at her, his eyes dark from arousal, his hair rumpled from her fingers, his gaze intent. ‘Please--’ she moans incoherently, moving her hips against his to encourage him.

‘You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?’ he says, grinning at her.

‘Yes, yes,’ she tells him, embracing how she feels. ‘I’m whatever you want me to be.’

‘And you want me, don’t you?’

‘So much,’ she says, taking his hand in hers and pressing it down against her. ‘Mike, please, I need you…’

‘Hmm, do you?’

‘Yes!’

He enters her suddenly and she throws her head back, moaning his name. She comes with a rush, finally, and when he does too they subside onto the shower floor. She slips into his lap and rests her head against his chest.

‘Mike,’ she murmurs, unable to stop touching him, running her hands along his chest. He reaches up and turns the shower on again, and she laughs as the water pours down on them.

 

They drive to work together, as promised, though she insists he drops her off a block from the building. She doesn’t want them to be seen together, not when they have no idea what’s going on. She greets Phil and goes with him to make coffee while they wait for Mike to arrive.

Phil gives her a synopsis of their interviews and she gains a much fuller picture of their activities. Mike, if anything, has downplayed their difficulties.

‘Hiya, Phil,’ Mike says, waltzing into the break room. He’s practically walking on air and she looks away as he walks up to them. ‘Mornin’, Doc.’

‘Good morning, Detective,’ she says crisply.

‘Ready for our busy morning?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she says, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘Let’s start.’

 

She doesn’t see Mike when she exits the interrogation room after wrapping up the second, far more satisfying interview. She spends a half hour writing up her notes and making a copy to leave with Phil Cerreta before she heads downtown to her office via taxi. She’d hoped that Mike would be there and would offer her a ride, at least to her apartment, but that was a hope in vain.

Julie is waiting for her in her office, and she spends two hours helping Julie come to terms with her loss, adjust herself to relying on her own judgement and defences in her everyday life. When Julie leaves, she checks her messages. There is nothing from Mike--no, she didn’t expect a message, but she had hoped--she calls into her home answering service and listens to Jim Kittredge’s message again. This time she dials his number.

‘Hi, Jim? It’s Liz Olivet.’

‘Liz! So good to hear from you, thanks for returning my call. As I said, I’d love to get together sometime this week. Are you free?’

‘Sure,’ she replies, touched by his eagerness. ‘Maybe Wednesday?’

‘I can’t do Wednesday--I’m on call, unfortunately. How about Friday?’

‘Friday is fine.’

‘Perfect. Can I pick you up at your place around 7 for dinner?’

She nods, then realizes he wouldn’t be able to see her. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘Great. I’ll see you then.’

She feels a vague sense of guilt and betrayal as she settles back into the afternoon of seeing patients and catching up on the past two weeks.

 

Mike picks her up at her office in midtown on Thursday at three-thirty in afternoon for the game. She’s changed into jeans and a polo shirt and stuffs a Yankees cap in her purse. She hasn’t seen him since Monday, nor have they talked--he’d called and left a message on her machine telling her he’d pick her up on Thursday.

‘Hi,’ he greets her, turning around to check he can pull out of his parking spot safely. She feels a bit dismayed that he doesn’t greet her with a kiss, but as they start driving he rests his hand on her knee. When they park, he turns to her and smiles. ‘You look good.’

‘You too,’ she says, appreciative of his tight t-shirt and the way he looks in his jeans. He slips his hand in the back pocket of her jeans possessively as they walk into the stadium. She smiles, leaning against him as they find their seats in the stands.

‘D’you want a beer?’ he asks.

‘Yes, but I’ll get it,’ she offers with a laugh. ‘The game’s about to start and you’re certainly more interested.’

He kisses her absentmindedly as the first pitch is thrown, and she slips through the cheering fans to find some beer. About half an hour later, she carefully balances their beers and some popcorn as she makes her way back through the crowd. When she returns to their seats, he isn’t there, so she settles down and takes a sip of her beer. She watches the game with absorbed abstraction, though her eyes wander as the game progresses. Suddenly she catches sight of him by the stairs, his arm slung around another woman. She looks and sees him kiss the woman, then he walks back towards her nonchalantly.

She goes hot and cold all over, appalled and betrayed. Well, is she betrayed? They haven’t agreed on anything between them--what do they have?

‘Sorry, nature called. What’d I miss?’

She hands him his beer without a word, eyes fixed on the game. What is she to say? ‘I just got back myself,’ she tells him. He settles his arm around her shoulders and she flinches visibly.

‘You okay?’ he asks, and she sees him look at her from the corner of her eye. She refuses still to look at him.

‘It’s just hot,’ she says, finally forcing herself to look at him. ‘I think I’m getting sunburned.’

He laughs and runs his hand down her arm. ‘Yeah, you look a bit pink. Well, the game is going pretty quick, so you shouldn’t get too burned, I hope.’

‘Hmm, yes,’ she says, taking a swig of her beer. She watches the game without really caring and her brain whirrs as she thinks about the man beside her.

She may have been right after all. She knew he was a philanderer, emotionally unavailable, but she thought--well, she thought that what they had was good. But it has only been a week. They haven’t talked about their relationship, whatever it is, and she has to acknowledge that she hasn’t asked him for anything. She shouldn’t feel like this… especially as she has a date tomorrow night with another man. But she also didn’t kiss anyone else on a date with him, and that hurts.

The game ends with a Yankees victory and he is particularly amorous as they walk out of the stadium. As soon as they get to the car, he leans over and kisses her deeply.

‘Your place or mine?’ he asks, and she hates his presumption, hates that he assumes he can kiss one woman and expect to go home with another… but then he slips one hand up her shirt and she says ‘mine,’ breathily.

‘Let’s go, then,’ he says, and breaks quite a few speeding laws as they drive back to her apartment.

He follows her up to her apartment and she is angry again, her desire cooled in the long drive back to her apartment. But then he says ‘you look so sexy in those jeans,’ and she turns to face him. He starts unbuttoning her jeans and she helps him, pulling off her shirt. He kicks off his own jeans and pushes her back against the wall.

‘Mike,’ she says softly, eyes closed.

‘Mm, what?’ he asks, occupied in trailing kisses down her neck. She doesn’t know if he’s thinking of her. He unfastens her bra, kisses her breasts, and she twines her fingers in his hair.

‘Lizzie, you are amazing,’ he says, his words vibrating against the flat planes of her stomach. He leans back on his heels and looks up at her. ‘So beautiful, so clever,’ he continues, turning his attention back to her body.

She brushes his hair back from his eyes. ‘Can we go to the bedroom?’ she asks quietly.

‘If you want,’ he says, kissing his way back up her body. She leads him into her bedroom and wraps her arms around him again, trying her best to blot out the image of him kissing that other woman.

 

‘So what are you doing tomorrow? Wanna have dinner?’ he asks, stroking her hair.

She shifts uncomfortably. ‘I’m busy. What about Saturday?’

‘I’m on duty on Saturday. D’you have a late appointment or something on Friday? Maybe we could meet up after.’

‘No, I have a date,’ she says.

He stops stroking her hair abruptly. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, maybe I should go, then,’ he says, making to move out of her bed.

‘You don’t have to go,’ she says.

‘I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t like it if you woke up in bed with someone else.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Whatever, Liz,’ he says. Rolling out of bed, he starts getting dressed.

‘It doesn’t matter, Mike. It’s not like we’re exclusive,’ she says, struggling to remain calm.

‘Who?’ he asks, turning to look at her. ‘You and him?’

‘Yes. I haven’t even been out on a date with him yet, so he’s certainly not my boyfriend, let alone exclusive. And you and I--well, we also aren’t exclusive.’

‘Right,’ he says tightly, and she feels as though she’s disappointed him somehow. ‘You’re right.’ He then turns back around and shrugs to himself. He resumes getting dressed and she watches him.

‘I’ll see you at the precinct,’ he says, and she nods, watching as he walks out of her room. She closes her eyes when her apartment door slams shut and she fights back unexpected tears.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rollercoaster of Liz and Mike's relationship continues to have ups and downs; Liz finds comfort in a potential suitor.

Promptly at seven, her buzzer rings.

‘Yes?’ she asks.

‘A Mr. Jim Kittredge is here to see you, Dr. Olivet,’ her doorman says.

‘Thank you, Carl. Could you tell him I’ll be right down, please?’ she says, then hangs up the phone. She takes one last critical look at herself in the mirror. She is wearing a navy sleeveless dress with a gathered waist and full skirt, a strand of pearls and matching studs, and she’s put on a creamy pink lipstick. She tucks a stray auburn curl behind her ear, collects her ancient linen Bermuda bag, and steps out of her apartment.

She has made a particular effort tonight despite--no, perhaps in spite--of that ugly scene last night with Mike. He hurt her… she doesn’t want to admit it, but he has.

Jim is waiting for her, looking very nice and familiar and comfortable after her dalliance with Mike.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says, kissing her cheek. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Liz.’

‘You too, Jim,’ she says, returning his kiss.

‘I thought we’d go to Bemelman’s--does that sound all right?’ he asks.

She smiles. ‘Yes, that would be lovely.’

‘Great.’ He offers her his arm and she takes it, feeling for all the world that she’s fulfilling her parents’ dreams at the expense of her own.

 

Over dinner in the candlelit restaurant, she appraises him cautiously. He is tall, though not quite as tall as Mike--no, I won’t think of him--and blond, with a pleasant and carefully handsome face. She remembers him well from their shared childhood, from regattas at the club and luncheons held by their parents and family friends. He is everything familiar and comfortable about her childhood world.

They chat desultorily about their shared acquaintances and Jim marvels that they rarely overlap in New York, but see each other only at home.

‘It would be nice if we could get together more often,’ he says, paying the bill.

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she says, looking into his blue eyes and smiling. He reaches across the table and lays his hand on hers. After a minute, she turns her hand over and clasps his.

‘I’m really glad we could reconnect, Liz,’ he said, looking down at their clasped hands. ‘I don’t know if you knew, but I had a crush on you in middle school.’

She looks at him, suppressing a nervous giggle. How different it was from last night… she feels a flush spread from her neck upwards. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ she says seriously, though of course she suspected it at the time.

‘Being here with you is a dream come true,’ he says sincerely, and this time it’s harder not to laugh at him. Unlike Mike, she can tell he means it, he wants to be taken seriously, this is a serious courtship. She lowers her eyes and smiles.

‘I’d really like to kiss you,’ he says softly, and she looks up at him. ‘Would you allow that?’

She nods, and is disappointed when his lips meet hers tentatively, softly. There is hesitation in his kiss, unlike with Mike, who seemed to know exactly what she wanted before she said anything at all. Nevertheless, she kisses him back.

When they break apart, she lowers her eyes again, looking at their joined hands. This is right, isn’t it?

She finishes her martini in a single swallow, setting the glass down.

‘When can I see you again?’ he asks.

She pushes away the memory of Mike’s reproachful face as she suggests Sunday.

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Brunch?’

She nods, and he grins; for a moment, she feels guilty that she could make him feel so good.

‘Sunday, then,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘Are you ready to go? Not that I want to end the evening, but I’ve been on call for the past thirty-six hours and I’m exhausted.’

‘Of course,’ she says, relieved. He leaves a few bills folded on the table and helps her out of her chair.

‘I’ll take you home,’ he says.

‘You don’t need to--I can get a cab from here.’

‘Please--I’d like to.’

‘All right,’ she smiles.

He kisses her again and then hails a cab.

 

She enters her apartment alone, slips out of her dress, and steps into the shower. She had a pleasant time; he was charming, polite, and good company. But he didn’t move her the way Mike did; she doesn’t feel weak at the knees.

Stepping out of the shower, she picks up a towel and dries herself off. She then walks naked into her bedroom, slipping between her sheets. She can still smell him, she fancies, even though she’s washed her sheets since he was last here. Closing her eyes, she tries to fall asleep, still thinking, albeit reluctantly, about Mike.

 

Two weeks go by without seeing Mike. There is a lack, it seems, of murders with particularly confusing motives or disturbed defendants. Her meetings with Julie are reduced to one a week; she has come far since the trial. She continues seeing Jim and enjoys spending time with him. She is so very comfortable with him, after all, and does not feel like she needs to check herself with every word she says.

But life has lost some of the sharpness it gained after she slept with Mike and has gone back to its wrapped-in-cotton-wool fuzziness it’s always had. Life is comfortable and isn’t too much of a struggle, especially with Jim. But it feels like she is waiting for something.

The next time she does see him it is as though they had never been together. He is cool, reserved, and she matches his attitude with a coldness that surprises her. And yet his eyes still linger on her during interviews, in the squad room. She can sense him watching her, just as she watches him when he’s not looking. But he speaks louder than ever about the women he sleeps with and she feels herself burn with jealousy.

 

A month on, she is forced to meet him and Phil at the precinct during a case of a girl raped by the fraternity brothers of her fiancé. She is frustrated that she has to wait an hour and a half to meet with her, and she lets him get the better of her, lets him see how he makes her blood boil. She meets with the girl and, as she now declines offers of a meal with them, she meets with them by their desks.

‘Did you get any read off her?’ Phil asks eagerly, handing her a cup of coffee.

‘After fifty minutes?’ she laughs incredulously. ‘How about some top-of-the-mind, inadmissible, subjective impressions?’ she accepts the coffee and settles herself down in a chair, ready to discuss.

‘Just as long as you don’t go out on a limb,’ Mike scoffs, looking at her intently.

‘Is it just me, Detective, or all women with triple-digit IQs?’ she asks, filled with anger and desire as he suddenly grins at her.

‘Oh, well you’re the only one I know, Doc,’ he says, and she sneers gently at him, fighting back her immediate response to him, attempting to quell the rapid beating of her heart.

‘Look, I’m going to have to meet with her again,’ she states, turning to Phil though she can feel Mike’s eyes on her. My view is she was certainly raped, but due to her reputation around the school, the boys may have convinced themselves that she wouldn’t mind.’

Mike turns serious, bringing all four legs of the chair down to the floor with a bang as he leans forward. ‘Does she remember anything, though?’

‘Not much. Look, I’ll meet with her again, but I can’t promise we’ll get much from her. She was very drunk at the time, and she may never remember. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a date.’

She collects her jacket and walks out of the room without looking back. She hears Mike bring his chair back down again with a bang, and Phil asks ‘what’s eating you?’

‘Nothing,’ he snarls, and then she bangs the door to the squad room behind her.

The night she invites Jim up for a drink after dinner. As they ride the elevator up to her apartment, she is tense with longing and anticipation. She pours them both martinis and restrains herself through their first round. Then, when he finishes his second, she slides her hand up his thigh in invitation.

‘Would you like to stay?’ she offers.

He nods, and she smiles, stands up, and leads him into her bedroom.

 

The phone rings at three in the morning and she groans in frustration, rolling over to pick up the extension on her bedside table. ‘Hello?’ she says groggily.

‘Lizzie,’ a voice slurs on the line. ‘Lizzie, I want you.’

She is instantly awake and sits straight up in bed.

‘Lizzie, I miss you. Let me come up.’

‘Where are you?’ she asks in astonishment.

‘On the corner. Lizzie--’

‘Who is it?’ Jim says, waking up, running a hand along her waist. ‘It’s early.’

‘D’you have someone there?’ Mike asks, half astonished, half angered.

‘Hold on--’ she says sharply to Mike, then covers the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘It’s a patient,’ she lies. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll take it in the other room.’

‘No, that’s okay--I’ll get us some water, hmm?’ he says, kissing her shoulder. She watches as he slides out of bed and walks towards the kitchen, then she turns her attention back to Mike.

‘Mike?’

‘I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend,’ he snaps. ‘Sure sounds like it.’

‘Mike, what’s going on?’

‘I told you,’ he says. ‘I want you, Lizzie. It’s been so long…’

Her heart skips a beat. ‘Mike…’

‘Please, Lizzie.’

She closes her eyes, thinking hard. Even the sound of his voice did more for her than Jim’s tender ministrations… 

‘I can’t, Mike,’ she says with a sigh of regret. ‘Not now.’ She hangs up the phone to the background of his protests.

‘Is everything okay?’ Jim asks when he comes back in.

‘Yes, it’s fine--I just need to go into the office early in the morning.’

He sets down the glasses of water on her bedside table and sits next to her, stroking her hair.

‘Do you want me to go?’

She looks up at him--his regular, even features, blond hair, and quiet competence are so comforting, quite unlike the explosive nature of the man on the phone.

Just as she opens her mouth to respond the phone rings again, and he smiles down at her.

‘It sounds like an emergency,’ he says kindly. ‘Look, I’ll go--it’s all right. I’ll call you?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry about this,’ she says, her heart pounding as the phone continues to shrill. How long before the answering machine picks up?

He kisses her on the mouth, then gathers his clothes as she picks up the phone.

‘Hello?’

‘You hung up on me,’ he says. ‘C’mon, Lizzie, you know you want me. Let me up.’

‘Fifteen minutes,’ she says, then hangs up.

 

Ten minutes later she kisses Jim goodbye on her doorstep, then rushes back to her bedroom and straightens up her bed. She is wearing only her robe and she pulls out underwear and a bra so she at least can get dressed. Just as she fastens her bra--black and lacy, the only thing she can find--there is a knock on her door.

She grabs her robe and holds it against her as she looks through the peephole. It is Mike, of course, and she opens the door.

‘What are you doing here, Mike?’ she asks.

‘Honey,’ he says, grinning at her. ‘Damn, you look sexy when you’re angry. Why don’t we drop that robe, hmm? C’mon, Lizzie, let me in.’

She can smell the whiskey on his breath but she ignores it as he wraps his arms around her and bears her over to the sofa.

‘Jesus, I’ve been thinking about you for so long,’ he says, kissing her neck, his weight pressing her back against the cushions. ‘God, Lizzie, I want you, I need you--’

She gives up trying to talk to him and embraces him, responding despite her qualms.

 

Afterwards, they lie wedged on her narrow sofa together, his arms around her waist, she half on top of him. She runs her hand down his chest, listening to his deep, even breathing.

They didn’t talk after they fucked. He kissed her sloppily on her neck and then fell asleep immediately. She cannot sleep, though she feels sated and exhausted. Why did he come here tonight? Why did she let him in?

She doesn’t know what to do next, but she supposes there isn’t anything she can do now. The morning will be soon enough. She closes her eyes and pillows her head on his shoulder, then tries to even her breathing to fall asleep.

 

A few hours later she wakes up when he shifts from beneath her.

‘I’ll be right back, honey,’ he says, kissing her and tucking the throw around her. She closes her eyes, feeling warm and comfortable and drowsy at last. When he comes back, he sits down on the floor next to her, cupping her cheek in his hand.

‘So what happened last night, Mike?’ she asks sleepily, holding his hand to her cheek. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘I missed you,’ he says simply. ‘I missed you and I wanted you.’

She smiles broadly and pulls him closer to her to kiss him. This is what she wants to hear, isn’t it? That he wanted her… He deepens the kiss and slips his hand beneath the blanket.

‘Can we go to bed?’ she asks, breaking the kiss.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he said, resting his forehead against hers. He lifts her up and she giggles, feeling carefree and light as a feather as she wraps her arms around his neck.

‘Um--’ she says before he enters her room. ‘Actually, how about we take a shower first?’

He nuzzles her neck. ‘Why, is anything wrong?’

She struggles in his embrace. ‘It’s just--’

He opens the door and looks at the rumpled bed, her clothes in disarray, then back at her.

‘Ah,’ he says, setting her down gently. ‘So I did interrupt something.’

‘Yes,’ she replies, knowing now that it is time to talk. ‘Why did you come?’

He looks away. ‘I dunno. I was drunk.’

‘Yes,’ she laughs quietly. ‘I could tell.’

‘Why’d you let me up?’

‘I figured you’d keep calling,’ she says.

He looks back at her, offended. ‘That was it? Then why’d you answer the door in nothing but your panties?’

‘I was trying to get dressed! Jim had just left!’

‘And what excuse did you give Jim?’ he says, temper rising. She sees his eyes flash and she feels a surge of desire.

‘He offered. He said it sounded like an emergency.’

‘And do you often see one man out of your bed and usher another in fifteen minutes later, Doctor?’

‘No!’ she snaps. ‘This is ridiculous, Mike. You are the one who called me at three in the morning begging me to let you up. You are the one who slept with me on my sofa because you said you wanted me. And you are the one who kissed another woman on our date!’ She slaps his chest for emphasis.

He flushes a deep, embarrassed red. ‘I didn’t know you saw that.’

‘Well, I did. It hurt, Mike!’

He shrugs. ‘I didn’t think you’d care. You said it yourself--we’re not exclusive.’

‘That doesn’t mean you kiss someone else on a date!’ she cries. She looks away from him and runs a hand over her eyes. ‘This was a mistake. I think you should go, Mike.’

‘I didn’t think you’d care,’ he says again, and she looks up at him, hearing the urgency in his voice. ‘I mean, look at you, Liz. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and you’re a shrink--so you more than any other woman has the knowledge to run screaming from someone with as many issues as me.’ He looks away from her and shrugs. ‘You’re right. I should go. I don’t wanna waste your time. Why don’t you call Jim back up? A solid guy like that isn’t someone you should let go of.’

Her heart goes out to him--the man standing in front of her, brash, arrogant, yet vulnerable, caring, and sensitive. She wants to take him in her arms and hold him, press her cheek against his chest to hear his beating heart. But he is right. Jim is someone she can depend on. Mike is someone who will break her heart. It wouldn’t necessarily be his fault, either--they work together, they come from completely different worlds, he doesn’t know how to love…

She takes a step forward and places her hands on his shoulders. ‘Don’t go,’ she whispers.

He looks into her eyes and she can see the desolation there, the desire for companionship, affection, love. Or is that just what she wants to see? She says louder, more firmly, ‘stay.’

He runs his hands over his eyes, then looks down at her. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure.’

He sighs, and she steps forward again, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest. She can hear the steady thumping of his heart and feel the heat of his body. He reciprocates her embrace, holding her close to him.

‘It’s late,’ she says. ‘I’ll put some clean sheets on the bed, or we can sleep in the guest room.’

‘Good,’ he says, stifling a yawn. ‘Where’s the guest room?’

She squeezes him tightly before she lets go and leads him down the hallway. When they reach the bed, it feels oddly ritualistic--they each go to a different side, turn down the covers, and crawl between the sheets. As soon as she settles in the bed, he draws her to him and holds her tight. She places her hand on his chest, closes her eyes, and goes to sleep at last.

 

When she wakes in the morning he is gone. She shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurts. She is completely exhausted and glad it is finally the weekend and she can lounge in bed all day. Stretching lazily, she crawls out of bed, puts on her robe, and walks into the kitchen.

To her great surprise, he is still there--sitting at her table, drinking coffee.

‘Good morning,’ she says.

‘Good morning. Would you like some coffee?’

‘Yes, please,’ she says, drawing her robe more tightly around her. She watches as he moves comfortably in her kitchen, his easy masculine grace entrancing to her. He hands her the cup of coffee and she cradles it in her hands, looking down into its depths. He sits down across from her and an uneasy silence hangs between them.

‘What happens next?’ she asks, her eyes still lowered. ‘I mean--are we…?’

He sighs and twists his ring unconsciously. ‘I don’t know, Liz. This isn’t something I’ve experienced before. I mean--look, not since my high school girlfriend have I been friends with the women I’ve slept with.’ He falls silent and stares into the distance, a haunted look in his eyes.

‘What happened?’ she asks quietly, looking at him.

‘She got pregnant… got an abortion. I wanted her to keep the baby. I wanted us to be together.’ He runs his hand over his mouth. ‘But I didn’t try to persuade her to keep it. It was her choice. And then she left me.’

‘Mike,’ she whispers, and he looks up at her, though for a moment she can tell he is not seeing her, but that girl of long ago. Finally he focuses on her, and her heart goes out to him. ‘Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Yeah, me too.’

They fall silent again and she watches as he drains his cup of coffee. He stands up and walks into the kitchen to pour another cup.

‘We’re friends, aren’t we, Liz?’ he asks, resting his hands on the counter, his head bowed.

‘I’d like to think so, yes,’ she says, watching him carefully. ‘And we respect each other.’

‘Yeah. I’ve never had that with any other woman before, y’know.’

She sighs, continuing to watch him. What can she say? She knows that, of course, and more than that, knows why. He was hurt badly by his mother as a child; hurt, too, by this girl. It’s not an excuse for treating women poorly, but it is a reason. She thought she could do that… she thought that was what she wanted from him, just sex. But she doesn’t. She is drawn to him; she wants to be more than the woman he sleeps with when he’s lonely.

‘I don’t know that I can be who you want,’ he admits, his words echoing her thoughts that, for a moment, she’s afraid she’s spoken aloud. She looks at him, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. ‘I’m not some preppy lawyer or broker or whatever. I’m just a detective from the Lower East Side--no college, no family, no nice apartment. That’s not gonna change.’

‘I don’t need that,’ she says, coming up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist, resting her chin against his back. ‘I don’t need that, Mike.’

She feels him tense. ‘Don’t you?’ he asks.

‘No,’ she says, tightening her grip. ‘I need your friendship, your respect. What do you need from me?’

‘Your understanding, your patience,’ he says slowly, still tense. ‘You.’ The last word is said reluctantly, almost inaudibly, but she hears it and her heart flips over.

‘All right,’ she says softly. ‘So we move forward…?’

He turns in her embrace, and she looks up into his eyes.

‘Yes.’

He dips his head and kisses her on her lips. She steps further into his embrace, relishing the feeling of his hand cupping the back of her head, the way they seem to fit together perfectly.

When they break apart, she rests her forehead against his shoulder. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she admits. ‘I didn’t sleep well.’

‘Me too,’ he says. ‘It’s been a long week.’

‘Do you have any plans for today?’ she asks diffidently, pulling out of his arms and clearing away the coffee things.

‘No. You?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm,’ he says, stepping towards her. ‘I bet we could figure out something to do.’

‘Do you think so?’ she asks, her heart rate immediately picking up as he starts to untie her robe.

‘Yeah,’ he says, and slips his hands around her waist. ‘Yeah, I do think so.’

 

She wakes up in his arms later, feeling warm and comfortable. Right now she doesn’t care about anything else. She stretches languorously in his embrace, deeply sated and content. He stirs, tightening his hold on her though he doesn’t open his eyes. She smiles down at him. He is relaxed in slumber, for once, the lines of exhaustion near his mouth smoothed as he sleeps soundly. He needs a shave, and she runs a gentle hand along his cheek, feeling the stubble prick her palm.

She is so comfortable in bed with him. He is a considerate, generous lover--it surprised her, after that first night, but when she thought about it it made sense. He was desperate for love after his miserable childhood, even if he didn’t realize it, but he couldn’t open up. He wanted to be the one who left. He never wanted the pain of his childhood to revisit him again. She leans over and kisses him softly on the mouth, waking him up.

‘Mmm,’ he sighs, pulling her on top of him. ‘D’you know, this is exactly how I like being woken up?’

She giggles, a lighthearted and girlish sound so unlike her that it gives her pause. He has had a more profound effect on her than she suspected, apparently. ‘I had a feeling.’

‘Well, you do know more about me than I know about myself, right?’ he says, but this time there is laughter in his voice. ‘Mm, sit up honey, let me see you.’

She gives him a questioning grin but does as he asks, pushing up and straddling him. She watches as his eyes darken and he grins boyishly.

‘So beautiful,’ he murmurs, running his hands along her hips, her waist. ‘So beautiful...’

She strokes his cheek, smiling down at him.

‘You’re somethin’ special, you know that?’ he says, reaching up to stroke her breasts. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes as he continues to caress her.

‘Mmm,’ she moans as he moves one hand lower. ‘Mmm, I want you, Mike,’ she says, moving against him.

‘Oh, Lizzie, yes,’ he groans. ‘C’mon, honey, I want you too.’ He moves his hands back to her waist, urges her up.

‘No, no,’ she says, ‘not yet.’ She moves down his body, kissing his chest, his stomach, drawing her tongue down his abdomen. He groans, and she grins, running her hands down his hips. In one smooth motion, he draws her up then flips her beneath him, kissing her.

‘Mike!’

‘I can’t wait--’ he groans, entering her, and she cries out his name as he thrusts within her.

‘Come for me, come, c’mon, Lizzie,’ he urges her, and she gasps as she does, suddenly and powerfully.

‘Yes!’ he cries triumphantly as he comes, pulling her to him so hard she knows she will bruise later, but she loves it. ‘Yes, Lizzie, yes!’

After, she wraps her arms around him tightly as they lay side by side.

‘Oh, Mike,’ she whispers, nuzzling his chest, running her hands along his side. ‘Oh, my dear.’

He kisses her temple, her cheek, her jaw. ‘You wonderful thing.’ He draws her closer to him. ‘You are amazing.’

‘Mm, you too,’ she says, kissing him, then rests her head on his shoulder.

‘What are you doing for Thanksgiving?’ he asks, stroking her hair.

She yawns sleepily. ‘Back to Rowayton, I s’pose. What are you doing?’

‘Going to Phil and Elaine’s, I guess. Should be fun.’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I come back on the Saturday.’

‘Good,’ he says, kissing her forehead.

‘Mm, yes.’ She closes her eyes.

‘Should we get some lunch?’ he asks.

‘In a bit,’ she yawns. ‘Just want to take a little nap…’ she falls asleep in his arms.

 

When she wakes up he is gone again, but she turns over to find a note propped up on her nightstand.

‘Went to change clothes and get us some lunch. Back soon.’

She sets the note back down and climbs out of bed, noting the rumpled sheets with distaste. She strips the bed and collects the rest of her laundry so that she can have it picked up. She changes the sheets in her room and in the guest room, then takes a shower.

When she gets out of the bathroom he still hasn’t come back. She changes into jeans and a thick Aran sweater from a long-ago trip to Ireland, then looks out the window. It is chilly and gloomy outside, so she decides to curl up on the sofa with a book.

Soon after, her buzzer goes and she picks up the phone.

‘Mr. Logan is here for you,’ her doorman says.

‘Thank you--could you send him up, please?’

‘Of course.’

She opens her door when he knocks, drinking him in--the leather jacket (mercifully not his long leather coat), jeans, and an Aran sweater too. He’s carrying a few shopping bags, but he opens his arms to her. She laughs, rubbing her cheek against his chest.

‘Guess we both had the same idea for sweaters,’ she says. ‘And I’m glad you brought lunch, I’m starving.’

He bends to kiss her and she responds immediately with a hunger that has nothing to do with lunch.

‘Let’s eat,’ he says, breaking the kiss with a smile. ‘Then, maybe, we can go out for a walk?’

‘Good idea,’ she says, knowing that they should leave her apartment at some point.

They settle down at her kitchen table; he sets out the sandwiches while she sets the table. He cracks open a beer and leans back in his seat. She pours herself a glass of water and then bites into her sandwich.

They don’t talk much as they eat. When they finish, he clears up the plates. ‘Ready for a walk?’

‘Yes--let me put on some shoes,’ she says, and goes back into her bedroom. She slips on a pair of low-heeled riding boots and picks up her ancient Barbour jacket from the hall closet. ‘Ready!’ she calls, and he meets her by the door.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, taking her hand. They step out of her building and walk towards the park.

It has changed into a remarkably pleasant autumn afternoon--blue skies, crisp air--and she leans against him as they stroll through the park, chatting inconsequentially. He tells her stories from the Police Academy, how he used to drive a cab to pay his tuition, and some happy childhood memories. She listens--these are some of the first bits of himself he’s shared willingly, and she learns a lot about him. She learns that he likes poetry thanks to a crush on a middle-school teacher; that he’s played the guitar since he was sixteen; that he’s only ever lived in the city.

He asks about her life. She is cautious with what she shares, unwilling to highlight the gulf between them. She tells him tales of learning to swim in Long Island Sound, sailing, her wild nights as a Barnard undergraduate. It makes him laugh when she describes, in detail, their parties and late nights at Dorrian’s.

‘I wish I’d been there to see that!’ he laughs. ‘Maybe one day you can recreate that for me?’

She laughs and pushes him away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

He grabs her arm and pulls her to him, then kisses her on the lips.

She wraps her arms around his neck and presses up against him, relishing the feeling of his warm, firm body against her. She opens her mouth, deepening the kiss, and runs one hand through his hair.

‘Keep it up and we’ll be taking a cab back to your place,’ he says, breaking apart from her to nuzzle her neck.

She laughs. ‘Are we going to spend all our time in bed?’

He grins down at her. ‘The real question is why would we ever spend any time out of it? We’re good together, Olivet,’ he leers and she smacks him on the chest, grinning. ‘Don’t deny it, Lizzie.’

‘You drive me crazy, Logan,’ she says, turning away from him with a laugh.

‘Now where d’you think you’re going?’ he asks, striding to catch up with her.

‘Well, back to bed, of course,’ she says, eyebrow raised at his dumbstruck and amused expression. ‘But maybe we could stop by the grocery story first to get something for dinner?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, and takes her hand again as they stroll back through the park.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz goes home to Connecticut for Thanksgiving and flirts with the idea of a relationship with Jim.

‘I’ll be out of town for Thanksgiving--I leave this afternoon--so if you need me, you can reach me at this number,’ she says, handing a sheet of paper to Phil Cerreta. ‘I’m just at my parents’ house in Rowayton, so if it’s an emergency, I should be able to get back to the city quickly.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Doc--enjoy your vacation, and Happy Thanksgiving,’ Cerreta says.

She smiles at him, then flicks her eyes over to Mike.

‘See ya, Doc,’ he tells her, leaning back in his chair.

‘Happy Thanksgiving, Detectives,’ she says briskly, then walks out of the squad room before she is tempted to say anything else to him.

She takes a taxi back to her apartment to finish packing. Jim is meeting her at her apartment in a few hours and they are taking the train up together. She finishes packing and makes sure she cleans out the fridge, takes out the trash, and locks all her windows before she settles down to read and wait for Jim, but instead of focusing on her book she thinks about Mike instead.

She spent the night before last with Mike at his apartment, the last time they had together before she leaves. It wasn’t the pleasant evening she had planned--far from it.

‘Are you driving up on Monday?’ he asks her, trailing kisses down her neck.

‘’No--we’ve decided to take the train,’ she tells him.

He stops kissing her, looks up at her, and quirks an eyebrow. ‘We?’

‘I told you that Jim and I were traveling together,’ she says, stroking his cheek.

He rolls away from her. ‘Oh. Right.’

She rests a hand on his back, but he stiffens at her touch. ‘It’s just going to be a miserable trip--I wish I was staying in the city.’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah, well, it is a family holiday after all.’

‘Exactly,’ she says, moving closer to him. ‘And Jim is like… a cousin. We grew up together.’

He snorts with laughter. ‘I dunno about you, but I don’t often sleep with my cousins.’

She draws her hand away from him as though she’s been burned, then moves away from him in the bed. She lies there quietly for a minute, then gets out of bed and dresses in silence.

He turns over on his side and watches her. ‘Where are you going?’

She ignores him and finishes tucking in her blouse. She leaves in silence, and he doesn’t try to stop her.

 

She runs her hand over her eyes, trying to block out her memories of the previous day. She wanted a relaxing evening with him but of course they fought. They always fight… it seems like they cannot go more than a week or two without a falling out. He is too touchy, too easy rouse to anger… what attracted her at first--his energy--has proven to curtail any attempts at a steady relationship. She doesn’t know what to do. It hurts her. Perhaps Thanksgiving will be relaxing, if only because she will be out of touch with him.

The buzzer rings and she looks at her watch. It must be Jim, and she crosses to answer it. ‘Yes, tell him I’ll be right down.’ She picks up her bag, makes sure she has everything, and bundles herself into her camel-hair polo coat. Time to go.

 

‘Hello, my dear,’ Jim greets her with affection, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I have a cab waiting outside--can I take your bag?’

She returns his kiss and gives him her bag. She slips her arm through his and leans against him as they leave her building.

‘I’m glad we’re going up together,’ he says, opening the cab door for her.

‘Me too,’ she replies, sliding into the cab.

He smiles at her, then tells the cab driver to take them to Grand Central.

‘I’m so glad to have the week off--the past two weeks have been practically non-stop,’ he says, attempting to stretch his legs out in the cab. ‘How have you been?’

‘Fine,’ she says, fighting back a blush as she thinks of what has occupied her lately. ‘Busy. Juggling work at the precinct and my private patients is more difficult than I expected.’

‘I can imagine,’ he says. ‘I’m glad I have only one call on my time, as all-absorbing as it is.’

‘Mm,’ she agrees, looking out the window at the gloomy November day. Night fell early, and even though it was only four-thirty evening has already set in. It is chilly, and all she can think is that she could be in bed with Mike right now, curled up against his warmth, his arms around her… but no, she couldn’t.

The cab arrives at Grand Central and Jim pays the driver, tips him, then collects their bags. She walks next to him.

‘D’you fancy a drink first?’ he asks. ‘We could go to the Campbell Apartment before getting on the five-thirty train. I’ve already got our tickets.’

She smiles up at him and impetuously kisses him on the cheek, so filled with gratitude at the ease of this journey. He’s thought of everything. He blushes and smiles at her.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ he says, and she nods, slipping her arm into his once more as they make their way to the bar.

They find a cozy corner and order drinks from the waiter who appears with admirable promptness; when he returns, Jim lifts his glass in a toast. ‘Happy Thanksgiving,’ he says, and she touches her glass to his.

‘Tell me if I’m off base here, Liz, but I wanted to ask you something,’ he says after a few minutes.

‘Of course,’ she replies, knowing what he will ask next.

‘I was wondering--well, we haven’t seen each other, really, since that night--I was wondering what happened, you know.’ He looks down at his drink.

Even though she knew what was coming, she doesn’t know how to respond. ‘It’s… complicated,’ she admits.

‘I’m happy to listen,’ he replies, looking at her.

‘I’ve… sort of been seeing someone. It’s been off and on for months… I don’t know, it’s been complicated, we’re not in a relationship, not really.’

‘Ah, I see,’ he says, then takes another sip of his drink. ‘And now…?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘And--you and me?’

She looks up at him, then reaches across the table to lay her hand on his. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we? We could perhaps… explore something else, too.’

He smiles. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Good. Now--should we get our train?’

He looks down at his watch, then stands up in a rush. ‘You’re right--it’s 5:20, we’ll have to rush.’ He throws down a few bills on the table and they gather together their things, then make their way to the train.

They find seats together and Jim stores their bags above them. She takes the seat by the window, briefly pressing her forehead against the cool glass as she thinks about what she’s said to Jim. He is here and waiting for her; he is kind; a relationship with him would be easy… but would it be fulfilling? Probably not… but he is what she needs right now, a balm against the destructive nature of her arguments with Mike.

He settles down next to her and rests his hand on her knee. She shifts closer to him, pressing her thigh against his, seeking comfort from him. She remembers when they were eight and sailing together; once, the boom of her Opti came around too quick and smacked her in the forehead, and he made sure she was all right, offering her a sip of his ginger beer and maneuvering her boat back to the dock. He is a kind man...

‘Perhaps we could have dinner together sometime this week?’ he suggests, interrupting her thoughts.

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she replies, forcing back a swell of guilt. ‘Maybe tomorrow?’

He squeezes her knee in response, and she rests her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes as the train leaves the station.

 

As the train pulls into the Norwalk train station, he gathers their bags. They walk to the train door and he steps off the train first, then sets down their bags and offers her a helping hand. She takes it.

‘Can I give you a ride back to your house, or are your parents picking you up?’ he asks her, taking her arm.

‘My parents are picking me up,’ she says, ‘but thank you.’

‘In that case…’ he says, and pulls her out of sight of the parking lot. He sets down their bags, takes her into his arms, and kisses her. She wraps her arms around him and deepens the kiss. Muzzily she thinks that this is much better than the last time they kissed; he is more forceful, less tentative. He slips a hand under her polo coat, running his hand along her waist, pulling her closer.

‘There you are, Jim,’ a voice says, and they break apart, though his arm remains around her waist and she holds onto his arm, caught off guard.

‘Trip!’ Jim exclaims, annoyed and amused in equal measure. ‘You scared the life out of us.’

‘Is that Liz?’ Trip says in surprise, walking over to them. ‘Well, you definitely have something to be thankful for this year!’ he laughs.

‘Hello, Trip,’ she says, blushing profusely and moving closer to Jim.

‘Hi, Liz. How are you?’ he asks, and she smiles and nods, ducking her head in embarrassment. ‘Your parents are parked next to us and I know they’re anxious to see you--so if you two lovebirds are done making out, maybe we could get out of the cold and go home?’

‘Well, why don’t you make yourself useful and help us with our bags?’ Jim says.

‘Anything to get you to move faster,’ he grumbles goodnaturedly, slinging his bags over his shoulder. ‘I’m freezing!’

They follow Trip to the parking lot, and Jim takes her hand. She fights back the urge to pull away--they’re not even in a relationship, but it doesn’t matter now--it will be all over the town in a minute now that Trip’s seen them. She might as well enjoy the sort of relationship she will never have with Mike.

Jim stops abruptly just as they reach the parking lot. ‘Wait--when you said “us”--’

‘Mom and Dad are here too,’ he says, just as they come into view. This time Liz stops as well, and lets go of his hand.

‘Oh, God,’ she breathes, watching as their parents chat.

‘It’s all right,’ Jim says, and they watch as Trip approaches the four adults, calling a greeting to them. ‘My parents love you.’

She looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. ‘Let’s hope they still do when they find out--’

He interrupts her with a laugh. ‘I’m fairly certain they’ll love you even more. Don’t worry, Liz.’

She quirks a grin at him and he touches his hand to her cheek briefly. ‘Ready to face the music?’

‘I suppose,’ she sighs. He takes her hand and they walk over to their parents.

‘Hello, darling,’ her mother says, approaching them. ‘Welcome home.’ She folds her into an embrace, whispering, ‘I’m so happy!’ in her ear. When she pulls back she is smiling, however reluctantly.

‘Hello, Mummy; hello, Daddy,’ she says, kissing her father on the cheek. She then turns to Jim’s parents. ‘Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Kittredge.’

‘Hello, Liz, dear,’ Mrs. Kittredge says, coming over to kiss her on the cheek. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’

‘You too,’ she replies politely, darting a glance at Jim.

‘We thought we’d go to the club for dinner, all of us,’ her father says. ‘Start the Thanksgiving celebrations early?’

‘Yes, I’m starved,’ Trip says, looking at the two of them with a wicked grin. ‘Let’s go.’

She looks at Jim, feeling as though they’re trapped, knowing they’ve walked into her parents’ dearest dream.

‘We’ll see you there,’ Jim says, and winks at her.

 

Dinner is just as awkward as she expects. She and Jim sit next to each other, and even his comforting hand on her knee does very little to assuage the restlessness of the situation, especially as it seems everyone they know is dining at the yacht club that evening, ready with their own comments on the situation. Finally the interminable dinner is over, and they say their goodbyes outside their cars.

Jim kisses her briefly. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?’ he says, then whispers, ‘I’m sorry this was the longest dinner in history.’

She laughs quietly, then kisses him again. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.’

‘Good night.’

They part and she climbs into the car with reluctance, steeling herself for her parents’ interrogation. To her surprise, they don’t press the issue--though, she admits, their dinner was enough of an inquisition to meet even her mother’s exacting standards. They ask her about her work, consult with her on the seating for Thanksgiving dinner--her cousins will be in attendance--and then, when they arrive at home, her mother sends her father upstairs with her bag.

‘I just wanted to say how happy we are that you are seeing Jim,’ she says.

‘Yes, well, it’s still in the early stages,’ she reminds her. ‘Nothing definite yet.’

Her mother waves her protests away. ‘He’s been in love with you for so long that Emily and I were wondering if you’d ever give him a chance!’ she laughs. ‘We’re happy for you both, and I hope that you are happy with him.’

She smiles weakly. ‘I hope so, too.’

She reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘You look tired, Liz--why don’t you go to bed? Sleep in in the morning; your father and I have a paddle tennis game early, but Nina will be here and she can make you breakfast. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?’

‘Jim and I thought we’d go to dinner,’ she admits, and her mother beams.

‘Wonderful. Well, good night, my dear,’ she says, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well.’

‘You too, Mummy,’ she replies, then turns and sees her father coming down the stairs. ‘Good night, Daddy.’

‘Good night, Liz. We’re so happy to have you home.’

‘Me too, Daddy,’ she says, and then goes up to her room, collapsing on her bed with a sigh of relief.

 

She wakes up late the next morning and pads downstairs in ratty old flannel pyjama pants from Farmington and a long-sleeved regatta t-shirt she found in her dresser. Nina is making coffee in the kitchen, but she turns around when she hears her.

‘Liz!’ she says, rushing forward to give her a hug. She steps into her embrace with a smile, feeling like a cherished child again. ‘How are you? Can I make you some breakfast?’

‘Hello, Nina,’ she says, kissing the older woman on the cheek. ‘That’s all right, I can get it.’

‘No, no, sit down, my darling. French toast or scrambled eggs? Belgian waffles or an omelette?’

‘Just an omelette, please,’ she says, so grateful for her beloved Nina.

‘And bacon and coffee,’ Nina finishes, smiling at her. ‘Now, sweetheart, go upstairs and take a shower, and when you come back downstairs breakfast will be ready.’

She drops a kiss on Nina’s cheek, then goes back upstairs to shower and dress. When she comes back downstairs, Nina has left her a beautifully composed plate with an omelette, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and a pot of coffee. She can hear her humming in the other room as she dusts, and she eats her breakfast feeling peaceful and happy for a moment, content to be at home with people who love her.

 

Jim picks her up that evening and comes inside to greet her parents.

‘Jim, darling!’ her mother greets him with affection. She raises an eyebrow at her father, who hides a grin behind his newspaper.

‘Hello, Mrs. Olivet,’ Jim says, kissing her. ‘Mr. Olivet.’

‘Jim, good to see you. Want a cocktail?’

‘Thanks, sir, that would be great.’

‘Help yourself,’ he says, nodding towards the drinks table, then turns back to his newspaper.

‘Liz, can I make you a drink?’ he offers, and she smiles.

‘I’ll help you.’ They walk over to the table. ‘So, where are we going to dinner?’

He pauses in mixing their martinis. ‘It’s a surprise.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘A surprise?’

He grins. ‘You’ll like it,’ he says, sliding a hand down her arm.

‘Well, should I change?’

He steps back and looks at her--she’s wearing grey flannel slacks, a thick turtleneck sweater, and smoking slippers.

‘No, you’re perfect.’

She smiles. ‘Good.’

They finish their martinis and then say goodnight to her parents.

‘You have a key, don’t you, Liz?’ her father asks. 

‘Yes, Daddy,’ she replies, feeling for all the world like they are back in high school.

‘Well, have a good time,’ her mother says. ‘Good night, Liz.’

‘Good night,’ she says, and they leave, his arm around her waist.

He’s borrowed his parents’ old station wagon and she laughs. ‘God, I remember this car. So many years sitting in the back seat drinking juice boxes after sailing!’

He laughs with her, then leans over to kiss her. She responds, resting her hand on his cheek as she leans closer.

‘Mm, we should stop before I get carried away,’ he tells her, resting his forehead against hers.

‘All right,’ she says. ‘Then let’s go. I’m eager to see the surprise.’

He grins, then pulls out from the driveway. They drive down the road for about fifteen minutes before he pulls down a familiar dirt road.

‘Why are we at your dock?’ she asks, confused, then they pull up and she sees the lights lit on his boat. ‘Oh,’ she breathes in astonishment.

He parks the car, then walks around to the other side and opens her door. ‘Would you like to come aboard?’

‘Yes, Captain,’ she laughs, and follows him onboard. He steps lightly onto the deck, extends a hand to her, and helps her step onboard.

‘Why don’t you sit here,’ he suggests, ‘and I’ll be up in just a second.’

She nods, settling down on the cushioned seats. There is a thick Shetland wool blanket next to her, and she unfolds it, wrapping it around her. It is November in Connecticut on the water, after all, so it is chilly.

He emerges from below deck with a platter of oysters, freshly shucked, and a bottle of champagne with two flutes.

‘This is something else,’ she says, completely astonished with the effort that’s gone into wooing her--very, very different than Mike. She shakes her head slightly, then turns her attention back to him.

She watches carefully as he opens the bottle of champagne, shooting the cork off the side of the boat. They laugh as they try to catch the foam in the glasses, then settle down next to each other.

‘Here’s to us,’ he says, smiling at her as they clink glasses.

‘To us,’ she echoes, and drinks.

They finish the oysters and the first glass of champagne, then he brings out the salads and roast duck. It’s a remarkable dinner, and the dessert--pot de creme chocolat--is the perfect ending.

‘How did you whip up everything in that tiny kitchen?’ she asks, settling back against the cushions, looking at him over her glass of champagne.

‘Oh, I need to have some secrets, don’t I?’

She shrugs. ‘I suppose.’

‘Well, I have a secret for you,’ he says, moving close to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

‘Mm, yes?’ she asks, scooting closer and resting her head against his shoulder.

‘It’s below deck.’

She raises an eyebrow, but accepts his hand as he draws her up. He precedes her down the stairs. The cabin door is open and the bed is made. She turns to him and he kisses her.

‘We can stay, if you want,’ he says, stroking her cheek.

She looks over at the bed, considering, but after a moment, she nods, and he bears her over to the bed, kissing her as though he'd die if he stopped.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike decides to make amends with Liz and asks Phil Ceretta for his advice in pursuing her.

He bends down a bit to look in the mirror, adjusting his tie to make sure it’s straight. Satisfied, he runs a comb through his hair, then gets ready to leave.

The drive up to Forest Hills, normally quick, is congested with Thanksgiving Day traffic, leaving him a lot of time to think. He taps his fingers against the dashboard, glancing over to the empty passenger seat.

He’s annoyed and tense--annoyed with Liz, annoyed that she went off with that other guy, and incredibly annoyed with himself that she affects him so profoundly. He just wanted to sleep with her once, maybe a few more times if she was good, and then they could go back to being colleagues… but from that first time he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

She was good, great--but it was more than that. That night, that first night--his birthday--when they went to dinner… she captivated him. She was so different at dinner than she was during their sessions or even during their cases. At work, she was sharp, detailed about her interviews and theories, dismissive of any suggestions not firmly grounded in fact. At dinner, she was softer, flirtatious, eager to listen to him as a woman listening to a man, not as a shrink listening to a patient. For once, for the first time, she shared parts of her life with him. He’d known that she was rich, the sort of Upper East Side girl he’d never have a chance with, but she’d never flaunted it in his face, never seemed to acknowledge it as a part of herself, to her credit. That evening confirmed it; loose from gin, she talked about her childhood, sailing in Connecticut, all-nighters in preppie bars on the Upper East Side in college. She’d shrugged when she said it, as though disbelieving any effect it had on her now. But he knew it did--it determined her life just as clearly as his past determined his present.

He felt her shiver when he took her hand to look at her watch and he’d grinned inwardly, knowing that he was having an effect on her. When she took his arm and leaned into him, allowing him to walk her home, he knew he was in with a chance. And then, in the elevator, he’d stepped as close to her as he dared. He knew that he needed to move slowly, carefully. Besides the fact she was a challenge, she was a colleague and his shrink, and he definitely didn’t want to offend her. But he wanted her…

He fights back a surge of arousal as he remembers how she turned to him that night, told him she wouldn’t regret it if he kissed her. She was soft and responsive in his arms, to his great surprise, and she drew him to her bedroom…

He shakes his head, trying to dispel the memories. She’d tried to return to their original relationship, that of colleagues--she’d transferred his case to another department shrink and they met at the precinct on equal terms again. He’d tried to talk to her after that, but she’d always shied away, claiming other commitments. Until that night, one night at the end of August, when he’d maneuvered her into a late-night analysis and brought her home, insisting they had to talk. She’d agreed with bad grace, but it was raining and they were soaked in the short dash to her building. She’d given him a robe to change into, and when they met back in her living room she’d changed as well. And then they were talking; and then they were kissing; and then he tumbled her into her bed and it was even better. She was even better.

Stopped in traffic, he groans, resting his head against the steering wheel. He thought it was good with her. He thought it was going well. But it’s not, clearly, now--he was flooded with jealousy when first mentioned Jim, and even more when she’d answered the phone and he’d heard his voice. He wanted to be the only one in her bed… and when he realized it, he went back to her, to her warm embrace. He felt--feels--comfortable with her. She challenges him both at work and out of it, was surprisingly tender and passionate beneath her polished exterior. And the way she responded to him… she was amazing, how could he willingly give that up for a quickie with a girl he met at a bar?

But with that amazingness came an attachment, a friendship at the very least--they worked together, he couldn’t just dump her and expect everything in his life would be the same. Even if it didn’t effect his work, he valued her… it was difficult to admit after years of distance. But she meant something to him.

He didn't like introspection, but she'd forced him to think--both as his shrink and as his lover. He keeps pushing her away because, just like every other woman in his life, he thinks, knows, that she will leave him. It’s easier to leave her… and he proved himself right, because she went back to her parents’ with a man who clearly is interested in her.

As traffic finally moves, he thinks back to an early case with Max, this preppie guy who’d murdered an ex-girlfriend. When they were interviewing one of the victim’s friends, she’d said something about their upbringing being like a straightjacket.

‘Yeah, lined with mink,’ Max remarked.

‘If you’ve only worn mink, you want to know what denim feels like,’ she’d replied cooly.

Well, maybe that’s what Liz was doing with him. Makes sense. As he finally exits to Forest Hills, his own words from that case come back to him. ‘She gets dumped by ponytail, where does she go to feel wanted? Back to her own kind.’ He sets his jaw as he pulls into a parking spot on the street, frustrated with himself. Yeah, he didn’t dump her, but he definitely didn’t make her feel wanted, even though he wants her so badly...

Three more days till she comes back to the city. He can try, at least, to make it right then. Feeling slightly happier now that he has a plan, he gets out of the car, grabs the bottle of wine and tin of cookies on the front seat, and walks up to Phil and Elaine’s.

 

After dinner, he and Phil kick back in the living room with a couple of beers and the game on in the background.

‘So, listen, Phil--’ he begins. ‘I need some advice.’

‘Lay it on me, Mikey,’ Phil says, glancing over at him. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

‘Um--’ he pauses as a touchdown is scored, trying to think of the best way to phrase it.

‘Spit it out, Mikey,’ he says.

‘There’s this girl…’ he starts.

Phil snorts with laughter. ‘That’s nothing new.’

He bites back his frustration. ‘She’s somethin’ different.’

Phil looks over at him and raises an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Well, well, this is a surprise.’

‘Yeah, cut the crap, Big Daddy,’ he snaps. ‘I’m tryin’ to ask you for help. I mean, you got Elaine to marry you, so you must have some skills.’

‘You thinkin’ about _marriage_ , Mikey?’ Phil says in complete astonishment, setting down his beer so hard he nearly spills it. ‘What _happened_ to you? Didya hit your head or somethin’ on the way over?’

‘No!’ he snaps. ‘Just--look, she’s not my usual, okay? And… I wanna try something new.’

‘So you’ve slept with her more than once?’ he asks, and Mike relaxes now that they are back on familiar territory.

‘Well, yeah,’ he says. ‘She’s good. She’s great, actually.’

‘Yeah? And which bar’d you meet her at?’

He shrugs, his eyes fixed on the game though he’s paying attention to Phil. ‘You know, around.’

‘“Around”?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, what does she like? Tell me about her.’

He shrugs, unwilling to betray Liz’s identity. ‘I dunno what to say. She’s different, brainy, classy, y’know. So what worked with Elaine?’

Phil picks up his beer and turns around to look at Elaine working in the kitchen. ‘Well, I brought her flowers, took her to dinner, and told her what she meant to me. Women like words, specially the brainy ones.’ He pauses and takes a swig of his beer. ‘Y’know, I always knew she was the one.’

‘How did you know?’ he asks before he can stop himself.

He shrugs. ‘It was… I just knew it, I recognized her. At the end of the day I didn’t want to be without her. Life’s better with her. That what you’ve gotta ask yourself. I’m pretty sure your girl, if she’s as brainy as you say, is already askin’ the same questions. If you’re not worth it, Mikey--if you’re not gonna try--she’s gonna be too smart to keep you around. Ask yourself if she’s worth it, and if she is--you’ve gotta make an effort.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Thanks, Phil.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, and they turn their attention back to the game.

 

He’s grateful that by the time he leaves in the evening traffic has cleared and the streets are passable, if not empty. He makes it back to his place quickly, stops by the bodega and picks up a six-pack, then goes up to his apartment. He changes into comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, flopping down on the couch with a beer.

So, what is he going to do to with Liz? He spent the entire drive back thinking about Phil’s words, that he knew Elaine was the one. Well, he feels a connection with Liz, as stupid as that sounds. Maybe that’s because they’re friends, or maybe it’s because she knows more about him than any other person on this earth… and she didn’t run--well, not because of that.

He buries his head in his hands as he thinks about how she walked out on him. It was his fault--he let his jealousy flare up, he didn’t trust her, even though she was the one who wanted to move forward. He didn’t know how to do it, how to be with someone, especially someone like her. She was worth the effort, wasn’t she? The pain, the difficulty, the differences… the thought of her turning to him in her sleep, the memory of her response to his touch, assuages any of his doubts.

So what is he going to do? Phil suggested flowers, dinner, words. Well, they’ve never gone out for a nice meal together in the sort of restaurant she’d like. He could start there.

 _Never thought I’d be going to so much effort to win over the department shrink_ , he thinks, grinning suddenly, then gets up and goes to the phone.

 

The next morning all of his arrangements are in place--except, of course, Liz herself. He’s made reservations at the Sign of the Dove on Tuesday night, sent his tweed blazer to the dry cleaner’s, even cleaned his apartment from top to bottom. He’s making an effort.

That afternoon he calls her and leaves a message on his machine.

‘Hi Liz, it’s Mike. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. Look, I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me Tuesday night at seven. I’ve made reservations. Call me back when you have a chance. Thanks.’

 

On Sunday morning, early, the phone rings. He rolls over in bed and picks up the extension.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Mike--it’s Liz.’

‘Hi, Liz. How are you? How was your Thanksgiving?’

‘Oh, it was fine,’ she says stiltedly. ‘How was yours?’

‘Fine.’ They fall silent.

‘I got your message--’ ‘Did you get my message?’

They speak at the same time, and Liz gives a nervous laugh.

‘Yes, I got your message. Dinner’s fine,’ she says. ‘Where should I meet you?’

‘I’ll pick you up. Reservation’s at seven, so I’ll see you at six-thirty?’

The line goes silent.

‘Liz, are you there?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘All right. I’ll see you Tuesday at six-thirty.’

‘Great.’ She hangs up the phone before he can say anything else.

So she was angry with him. At least she called him back. He’ll make it up to her on Tuesday.

 

He holds a bouquet of roses--cliched but hopefully effective--in his hand as he waits for Liz’s doorman to page her. He’s dressed for the occasion--navy slacks, white shirt complete with cufflinks, navy tie, tweed blazer--and he’s nervous, despite himself.

‘You can go on up,’ the doorman says after an eternity. He gives a sigh of relief and hightails it to the elevator.

The door to her apartment is cracked and he knocks perfunctorily before he enters.

‘Liz?’ he calls out as he steps inside.

‘I’ll be just a minute--help yourself to a drink, if you want,’ she calls from the depths of the apartment.

He steps into the kitchen and sets the flowers on the table, rummaging through the cabinets for a vase. He finds one, finally, and sticks the flowers in water.

‘Where are you?’ he hears Liz call, and he brings the flowers back into the living room.

‘Oh!’ she says in surprise, a shy smile crossing her face. ‘How beautiful.’

‘They’re for you,’ he says lamely, thrusting the vase in front of her. She takes it from his hand, burying her face in the fresh blooms.

‘Mm, lovely, thank you,’ she says.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says as she sets down the flowers. She’s wearing a forest-green silk dress, simple but clinging to her in all the right places, a pearl necklace, and high black heels.

She flushes and looks away. ‘Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.’

He smiles at her--he’s nervous, for some reason, and so is she. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Sure,’ he says, and offers her his arm. She looks at him and raises an eyebrow, regarding him skeptically before she takes his arm.

They go downstairs and the doorman hails them a cab. Mike leans back and tells the driver to take them to 65th and 3rd.

‘Where are we going?’ she asks, nestled in the opposite corner.

‘I made reservations at the Sign of the Dove,’ he tells her, and she raises her eyebrows in surprise. He smiles tentatively at her, but she turns away and looks out the window.

When they arrive at the restaurant, he pays and tips the cabbie, then darts around to her side of the cab to help her out of the car. He feels how tense she is when she lays her hand in his, and he doesn’t know what to do. This certainly has never been a problem he’s had before.

They step into the restaurant and are immediately whisked to an intimate table in the corner, surrounded by flowers and statues. A bottle of champagne is chilling next to their table, and they both take their seats. She is very clearly nervous, fiddling with her pearl necklace, while he notices he’s twisting his ring around and around. The waiter pours their champagne, and Liz takes her glass, looking at him.

‘To you,’ he says, touching his glass to hers. She looks away.

‘Are you okay, Liz?’ he asks as she studies the menu with far more attention than it deserves.

‘Fine,’ she says in her detached voice. She can feel him looking at her, and she meets his eyes, then asks in a slight softer tone, ‘How was Phil and Elaine’s?’

It’s the best opening he can hope for if she will be Dr. Olivet throughout the dinner.

‘It was… enlightening. I had a good conversation with Phil,’ he says, watching her carefully.

She takes a sip of wine, inclines her head to encourage him to continue.

‘I asked him for some advice. Y’know, he’s a pretty smart guy.’

She nods, drinking some more champagne. The waiter comes and they spend a few minutes listening to their specials, then they order. When the waiter leaves, she looks down into her champagne glass and he starts the conversation again with difficulty.

‘I asked him for some advice,’ he repeats doggedly.

‘About what?’ she asks, finally looking up at him.

‘About us.’

She looks up at him quickly. ‘About--about us?’

‘Yes,’ he pushes on, twisting his ring, looking down at his hands. ‘He made me realize--I--I wanna be with you, Liz. We have somethin’, have a connection… you know more about me than anyone else on earth. And, well--I don’t wanna be without you. I wanna know that you’re there. And I want you to know… I want you to know that I’m there for you--here for you.’

When he stops speaking it is completely silent and he risks a glance up at her. Her jaw has dropped open. ‘Liz?’

She shakes her head slightly, clearing her thoughts. ‘Mike, what are you saying?’

He reaches out and takes her hand. ‘Liz--you’re gorgeous and brainy and a much better person than I am--and I want you to ignore all that because I want to be with you.’

She is still silent and their food arrives, interrupting the moment. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want? Are you sure that you know what this would involve?’ she asks quietly once the waiter leaves them.

‘Yes. Yes, I have,’ he says. He takes her hand again and runs his thumb along the inside of her wrist. He feels her pulse speed up and he is happy, at least, that he still has that effect on her.

She lets out a shaky breath. ‘This… this is a surprise.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, giving her a weak grin. ‘Let me tell you, I never thought I’d be doing this. But you… you’ve changed a lot for me, Lizzie.’

For the first time all evening she smiles--a real, genuine smile, however small, though she looks back down at her plate almost immediately. She picks up her fork and picks at her salmon.

‘D’you know, you’re the only one who calls me Lizzie?’ she says casually.

He recaptures her hand and kisses it impulsively, buoyed by a sudden hope. ‘Does this mean…’

She looks into his eyes. ‘I slept with Jim when I was in Connecticut,’ she says, and he grips her hand more tightly for a moment in shock before consciously relaxing his grip.

‘Okay,’ he says numbly, though every nerve is on fire, though anger is coursing through his blood. That someone else would-- ‘Are you seeing him?’

She looks away again. ‘I’m not sure, Mike. When we left things… the way we left things… it hurt. It hurt a lot.’

He hangs his head, feeling an unaccustomed surge of guilt, and he looks down at her hand in his. ‘I know. I know. I’m sorry, Lizzie. I know I’m a fuck-up and I don’t know how to do this. But I want to do this. I want to try this.’

She finally speaks after a nearly intolerable silence. ‘I want to try it, too,’ she says softly, squeezing his hand.

He grins--has he ever been this happy before? he thinks, then pushes the thought away--and kisses her hand again. She looks up at him and returns his smile, and suddenly she is no longer Dr. Olivet but his beautiful, beguiling Lizzie once again.

After a few minutes of staring into her eyes, she laughs at him and averts her gaze. They then attack their dinner with gusto, slipping into a comfortable and amusing conversation. Dinner passes significantly more pleasantly than the rest of the evening, and she is loose and giggly when they finish up and pay the bill. He slips his arm around her waist and she rests her head on his shoulder as they walk out of the restaurant and hail a cab.

He can’t wait until they get back to her apartment to kiss her--it’s been long, too long, especially when she’s looking so beautiful. As soon as he closes the cab door behind them he takes her in his arms and kisses her.

‘Hey, buddy, where are we going here?’ the cabbie yells, and Liz pushes him away with a laugh to give him her address.

He pulls her back into his arms, running his hands down her back. All he wants is her, here, now, and he doesn’t want to wait.

‘Oh, honey, I’ve missed you.’

‘Mm, stop talking,’ she murmurs, pulling him back to her. The fifteen blocks to her apartment seem like an eternity, but an immensely pleasant one as he relishes the feel of her arms around him. He pulls her closer to him, feeling the lace outline of her bra through the thin silk of her dress. Just as he brings his hand up to unzip her dress, they pull up to her building.

‘Have a good night,’ the cabbie says after Liz shoves a folded-up wad of cash at him.

‘Oh, I want you, I want you,’ he murmurs to her, pulling her to him as they walk to the side door. He needs to feel her against him, needs to know that she’s here. He nuzzles the side of her neck, relishing the feel of her soft skin. She giggles as they step into the elevator and the sound of her laugh is intoxicating and completely arousing. He pushes her against the wall immediately, ignoring her attempts to press the button of her floor.

‘Mike!’ she protests, finally hitting the right button.

He cannot help himself, not now that he’s drowning in her softness, her arms wrapped around his neck, her slender curves pressed against him. The elevator doors bing open and they stumble out into the hallway.

‘Where are my keys?’ she yelps in frustration, digging through her purse. He laughs, wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent. What perfume is she wearing? he wonders. It smells like clean sheets and he wants her in his bed, in her bed, in any bed for God’s sake--now. She shivers in his arms. Finally she finds them and opens the door in a rush, tripping across the threshold. He pushes the door shut as soon as he follows her, locking it behind them.

‘I need you,’ he tells her, looking at the woman standing in front of him. Goddamn but she is gorgeous, standing there with her lips parted, her breath quick, her eyes dark. There is a light on somewhere else in the apartment, but not in this room. Her skin glows in the dim light and she looks like a dream. He cannot believe his good luck. Finally, at last, he crosses to her and takes her back into his arms, where she belongs, he thinks muzzily. ‘I need you,’ he says again.

She pushes his blazer off his shoulders and he backs her up against the wall, hiking up the silk skirt of her dress. He runs his hand down her thigh, finding silk stockings held up only by suspenders. He groans low in his throat, and she stops kissing his jaw for a moment to laugh.

‘So you like what you feel?’ she whispers.

‘God, yes!’ the exclamation is torn from his throat, and she laughs again, and she looks good, gorgeous, sexy.

‘C’mon, Mike,’ she urges him on, unbuttoning his shirt with quick, deft fingers, kissing his chest. ‘Mm, Mike, I need you,’ she says in between kisses.

He unzips the back of her dress and pushes it off her shoulders down to the floor. She steps out of it, kicking it aside, and he gets an eyeful of black lace lingerie, knee-high stockings, and black heels.

‘Jesus,’ he breathes reverentially. She grins at him.

‘Well, Detective Logan, I do believe you’re overdressed.’

‘I can fix that,’ he says eagerly, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes as she watches. It’s like all of his birthdays and Christmases have come at once.

She laughs and walks over to him, draping her arms around his neck. ‘You want me, don’t you?’ she says teasingly.

God, she's all silk and lace and velvet skin, he thinks, unable to stop touching her, unable to believe his luck. She is soft and exquisite and smells delicious, and he has never--he has never had anything like this before. He never thought he would.

‘I want you more than anything,’ he says with complete honesty.

‘Come to the bedroom,’ she says, takes his hand, and pulls him down the hall. She turns to him when they reach her bed and she lets go of his hand, then steps out of her heels. She looks at him and begins to unfasten her stockings. He can’t look away from her as she rolls the stockings down, exposing the creamy skin of her thighs. His eyes trace the long lines of her legs, her back curved as she eases the silk stockings off.

‘Let me help you,’ he says when she straightens up.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘You mean you don’t want to watch?’

‘If you put it like that--’ he says, grinning. God, she is full of surprises.

She looks into his eyes as she slowly slips out of her panties and discards her bra. And then that’s it, he can’t wait any longer, and he pushes her back onto the bed and stands between her legs.

‘Mike,’ she whispers, looking up to him with eyes filled with desire. ‘I want you, Mike.’

He joins her on the bed, kissing her jaw, her neck, working lower to her breasts. She arches her back as he lowers his hand, moaning his name. It nearly drives him over the edge, but he takes his time, moving down lower, kneeling between her legs. He kisses the soft skin of her thighs, overwhelmed by her response, the sound of her voice, normally so restrained, crying out as she begins to come, her heels digging into his back as she arches up from the bed. He looks up at her, her, watching her as she falls back against the bed, arms flung up above her head, her face flushed and smiling. He moves up and lies down next to her, resting his arm around her waist.

‘You didn’t come,’ she whispers, moving closer so that she can drape one arm across his chest as she kisses his shoulder.

‘Tonight is about you,’ he says, surprised even as he says it, realizing that it’s true.

‘No,’ she smiles, propping herself up on an elbow. She’s still wearing her pearl necklace, he notices, and he reaches out to touch the smooth gems, warm from her skin. ‘No, it’s about us.’

To his surprise, she straddles him, reaching down to touch him. She moves her soft hand up and down and he groans.

‘Lizzie--’ he looks up at her and she’s grinning at him.

‘This feels wonderful,’ she says. ‘Mm, I feel so powerful, Mike--’ she stops abruptly, bending down over him.

She hasn’t done this before, not for him, and he loses grip as she takes him into her mouth.

‘Jesus!’

She presses her palms into his thighs and continues, giving him so much pleasure he’s afraid he’ll completely lose control. Then, suddenly, she is on top of him, taking him inside her, moaning as she moves.

‘Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie,’ he cries out as he begins to come. ‘Lizzie!’

She pushes down once more, then collapses on top of him, breathing heavily.

‘Lizzie,’ he whispers, running a hand through her hair as he looks at her. ‘My God, you’re something else.’

She stretches in his arms, kissing his neck. She’s arousing all over again, the feel of her--

‘Mm, my darling,’ she whispers, snuggling closer, and he tightens his embrace. ‘This was--this was perfect.’

He strokes her cheek. ‘You’re wonderful, my love,’ and his heart stops for a moment when he realizes what he’s said. She lifts her head to look at him, her expression inscrutable. ‘I--I mean it,’ he tells her, and he does. ‘I do mean it, Lizzie. Lizzie, my love,’ he repeats it carefully, and it sounds good, feels good. ‘My love…’

She kisses him softly and deeply. ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that.’

‘Did you--did you want me to?’ he asks tentatively, wanting to know yet not wanting to at the same time.

She strokes his cheek. ‘Oh yes, my darling. Of course.’ She smiles sleepily and yawns, kissing him again. ‘Darling, darling.’

He looks down at her as she closes her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. She places her hand on his heart and goes to sleep. He wraps his arms more tightly around her and buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent as he succumbs to slumber as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Liz continue to explore their relationship, in and out of bed.

When he wakes up early the next morning he is happy to find her still in his arms, sleeping soundly. He’s never liked sleeping with women before--sleeping being the operative word--but it’s different with her. Not only does she not cling to him at night, but she sleeps softly, quietly. Besides, he likes having her in his arms. Her weight and warmth is oddly comforting to him, reassuring, and after all the horrible things he sees all day, every day, this makes it better.

He turns his head to look at the small clock on her bedside table, which reads 5:45 in the morning. He slips out of bed reluctantly to use the bathroom, turning to look at her when he reaches the door. God, she’s beautiful, he thinks, captivated by the way her chest rises and falls as she breathes. He shakes his head-- _you’re being ridiculous_ \--and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

As he finishes up in the bathroom, he debates taking a shower, but he wants her again, wants to join her in her large, soft bed and take her back in his arms, wants to kiss her, hold her… his train of thought is abruptly curtailed when he hears her alarm clock ring from the next room. He opens the door of the bathroom and steps back into her bedroom, greeted by the sight of Liz burrowing back into the covers and groping for the snooze button. He grins and walks over to her, sitting down next to her on the bed, and turns off the alarm for her.

‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice muffled against the pillows. He rests his hand at the nape of her neck, running his thumb absently along her jaw, once again astonished at the softness of her skin, how finely made she is. She sighs happily, reaching up to grasp his wrist and caress it even as she wriggles further beneath the covers.

‘What time do you have to be at your office?’ he asks her, feeling her pulse speed up.

‘Not for ages,’ she tells him. ‘Nine-thirty.’

‘Well, in that case,’ he says, grinning, as he flips the covers off her, ‘we have some time.’

She shrieks as the cold air hits her bare skin, but rolls over willingly as he runs his hand along her side. She is sleepy still but reaches up for him, resting her hands on his shoulders.

‘I’m not much of a morning person,’ she admits, her voice husky with sleep, her grey eyes blinking up at him.

His stomach clenches with desire at the sound of her voice. ‘Well, I’m sure we can change that,’ he says, bending down to capture her lips with his. She moans softly and opens her mouth, deepening the kiss. She pulls him down to join her on the bed, his weight settling on top of her. He can feel her slender body beneath him, delicate yet strong. She arches her back and her hips roll against his. He’s hard almost immediately; he can’t remember the last time he was this aroused this quickly, especially over something so simple. She reaches up and touches his cheek lightly, smiling at him.

‘Mm, you look too good to be in my bed this early in the morning,’ she says. ‘I can’t believe…’ she trails off and runs her hand down his chest.

‘Can’t believe what?’ he asks, lowering his head to kiss her jaw. ‘What can’t you believe, Lizzie?’ He loves the way her name sounds, loves that he is the only one who calls her that…

‘Kiss me, Mike,’ she says, looking back into his eyes, resting her hands on his shoulders.

He does as she asks, drawing her lower lip between his and sucking. He is rewarded when she draws him closer and wraps a leg around his hips.

‘God, Lizzie,’ he whispers, breaking apart from her. ‘Beautiful, beautiful Lizzie.’

She pulls him down for another kiss, urging him on. He lowers his hand to her crux and bites back a groan--she is so ready for him that he just wants to fuck her right now, doesn’t want to wait--

\--and then she rolls her hips against his again and he can’t wait, he enters her and starts thrusting, spurred on by her cries and the way she looks, her white throat exposed as she throws back her head and moans his name. He comes with a final thrust and then collapses on top of her, head pillowed against her breast as she runs her fingers through his hair. It is some time before he realizes she is laughing because her alarm clock is ringing again.

‘Oh, shut up!’ he growls at it, tossing a pillow at the nightstand to silence the damn thing, then turns back to her.

‘I could start to like wake-up calls as long as they’re like this,’ she says, still giggling. She looks gorgeous when she laughs; she rarely laughed in public, but here, with him... ‘But it’s probably far past time for us to get to work, and since my alarm clock is broken we have no idea what time it is.’

He chuckles and sits up. ‘I guess you’re right. I’ll get the shower going?’

‘Please,’ she says. ‘And I’ll start the coffee.’

He can’t resist kissing her once more before he leaves her in the bed, her body still shaking with laughter.

 

After their shower, he sprawls on her bed watching her as she blow dries her hair in the bathroom. She is absorbed in her task, moving gracefully as her short auburn hair fluffs up into the curls he knows so well. When she finishes, she sets the hair dryer aside and opens the bathroom cabinet, applying her makeup quickly, then she spritzes perfume on her wrists, rubbing them together then touching them briefly just below her ears--to distribute the scent, he guesses. Finally, she steps out of the bathroom and smiles at him.

‘Everything all right?’ she asks as she walks to her dresser, picking out panties and a bra--lacy still, does she only wear lace? his mind trails off down pleasant roads as he watches her dress. She walks to her closet, stepping into a narrow grey skirt and a navy silk blouse. She walks back to her dresser and picks out a pair of earrings from her jewelry box, putting them in absently.

‘When can I see you again?’ he asks, swinging his legs around so he can sit at the edge of the bed. She walks over to him and he pulls her down into his lap. He runs a hand down her back, feeling the softness of silk once again, and bends down to kiss her exposed collarbone. She sucks in a breath quietly, but he can feel it, and he grins. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and begins to caress the back of his neck.

‘Soon,’ she says, and he kisses the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling the quickness of her pulse. How amazing it was that he could do this to her, he thinks. He tightens his grip on her waist. ‘Um, I have dinner with my godfather tonight, but tomorrow, after work?’ she suggests.

‘Good,’ he agrees, immediately revising plans for Thursday night. His buddies would understand, especially if he told them it was about a girl. ‘And the weekend?’ he asks.

She pulls back and he looks up into her face, flushed prettily. ‘Actually, I have tickets to the opera on Saturday night,’ she admits. ‘My godfather was meant to come with me but he’ll be out of town--that’s why we’re having dinner tonight. So If you’d like…’ she trails off.

He raises an eyebrow as he actually gives it consideration, to his surprise. It would be nice to see her all dolled up for him again, maybe he could help her with those stockings this time…

‘If you don’t want to, that’s fine--I’ll ask a friend.’ She gets up off his lap and runs her hand through his hair one last time. ‘I should get going, and at a guess you probably need to change before you get to the precinct.’

‘What opera is it?’ he asks.

‘Cosi fan tutte,’ she says. ‘It’s actually quite good and very short--well, for the opera.’

‘Well, I’ll think about it. And you’re right--I do need to get changed.’

She kisses him and then goes back to her closet to get her matching jacket. He follows her out of the hallway, pausing as she collects her coat and handbag. They take the elevator down to the lobby together and part at the door.

‘Have a good day,’ she says, touching his tie lightly as she smiles at him. He grins and bends down to kiss her, then strolls uptown towards his apartment.

 

Over a sandwich at his desk in a brief five minutes snatched between interrogations, he leans back and looks at Phil.

‘Hey, Big Daddy, what would you wear to the opera?’

Phil raises an eyebrow. ‘You goin’ to the opera?’

‘Thinkin’ about it,’ he says, leaning back in his chair casually.

‘With your lady?’ he presses.

‘Maybe.’

‘Wow, she’s that good, hmm?’ he asks, grinning at him across their desks. ‘Worth four hours of boredom at the opera?’

He shrugs. ‘So what if she is?’

‘Never thought you’d be one to suffer through the opera,’ he laughs. ‘Let alone wear a tux.’

His face falls. ‘I’d have to wear a tux? It’s not like we’re meeting the Queen or whatever.’

‘Well, black tie at least. You’re steppin’ into a whole new world here, Mikey,’ he says. ‘Be careful. You should probably read Emily Post or whoever before you venture any further. They’re not gonna let you in without the password… and definitely not with that leather coat you wear.’

He brings his chair back down with a crash. ‘So you don’t think I can do it?’ he snaps, feeling annoyed that Phil so easily highlighted his unacknowledged concerns.

Phil bites into his sandwich calmly. ‘I’m not sayin’ that, Mikey. I’m just sayin’--these people are different, y’know?’

‘Yeah,’ he replies, then shoves his sandwich away, suddenly no longer hungry. ‘You ready? Let’s get this interview over with.’

 

When Phil takes a turn at interviewing the suspect, he tells Cragen he’s ducking out for a moment to use the bathroom. Instead he heads for his desk and quickly dials Liz’s office number.

‘Dr. Olivet’s office,’ her receptionist answers. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Yeah, hi, it’s Mike Logan. Can I talk to Dr. Olivet, please?’

‘She’s in with a patient now, Detective. Can I take a message?’

He bites his lip as he thinks what to tell her. ‘Um, yeah. Can you just tell her that I can make that appointment on Saturday?’

‘Of course, Detective.’

‘Great. Thanks,’ he says, hanging up before he can change his mind. He shrugs involuntarily when he thinks of the commitment he’s made to her, but hey--this is what dating her means. Yeah, they are dating, he realizes, and that means they do things together, that means he’s gonna have to do things that she likes and he doesn’t, necessarily. Now he’s just gotta figure out what the hell he’s gonna wear…

 

‘So am I gonna have to wear a tux or what on Saturday?’ he asks when she opens her apartment door to him the next night.

She beams at him. ‘No, of course not--it’s not an Opening Night. Just, you know, a nice suit, cufflinks, that sort of thing.’

‘Well, alright,’ he agrees, stepping into her apartment. ‘Hello there.’ She steps into his arms, resting her head for a moment against his chest.

‘Mm, hello.’ 

‘You hungry?’

‘Yes, I am. I could cook, or we could order takeout, or go out… what would you like to do?’

‘Let’s stay here,’ he says, unzipping her skirt. She pushes him away and laughs. ‘What?’ he grins. ‘If we’re stayin’ in you might as well… slip into something more comfortable.’

‘Like what?’ she asks, raising an eyebrow. His pulse speeds up as it always does when she looks at him like that.

‘Well, your bed would be a start,’ he tells her as she kicks her skirt away. ‘Y’know, clean sheets, soft pillows…’

‘And you,’ she says, walking down the hallway. He gets a great view of her from behind, her slim legs, slender waist, narrow hips. He follows her, his long strides making it easy to catch up, and he seizes her around her waist, lifting her up as she laughs.

‘Yeah, your bed’s a good start. After all, it’s still early, might as well work up an appetite for dinner.’

‘Oh, is that what you call it?’ she asks, running her hand down his chest, loosening his tie.

‘Of course,’ he grins. ‘I’m really only thinking of you. I just have your best interests at heart.’

She raises an eyebrow as she applies herself to unbuttoning his shirt. She feels light as a feather in his arms, and he enjoys the way she wiggles against him, trying to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders.

‘You keep that up, babe, and--’ he trails off with a groan as she slips her hand down the front of his pants.

‘Well, Detective Logan, it doesn’t feel like you’re quite ready yet,’ she purrs, kissing his shoulder. ‘But I bet you could be up to my… rather exacting standards quite quickly if we take this in hand.’

He practically runs the last few steps to her bed. He drops her down on the bed and he reaches down to unbuckle his belt.

‘No, not yet,’ she says, reaching out to still his hand. ‘That’s not quite the treatment I’d prescribe. Come here.’

She pats the bed next to her and he sits down next to her, reaching out to take her face in his hands.

‘No, not that,’ she says, her voice tinged with amusement. ‘Patience, Detective--we don’t want to rush things, do we?’

‘I guess not,’ he says, dropping his hands back to his sides. ‘Well, what should I be doing, then?’

‘I want you to sit like this,’ she says, swinging his legs around so that his feet rest on the floor. ‘Take off your shoes,’ she tells him, and he does as he’s told, tossing them across the room. He watches as she moves around the room, hanging up her silk blouse and blazer, carefully removing her stockings and folding them, putting them in her dresser drawer. She is wearing once again a delicate, lacy confection, and the ivory lace is almost the color of her skin. She walks back over to him and steps between his legs, resting her hands on his shoulders.

‘Well, Detective, are you ready?’ she says.

‘I’m in your hands,’ he replies, grinning.

‘Good,’ she says, and he looks into her eyes, dark with arousal. She smiles at him, then looks away and unbuckles his belt, then urges him to stand and pull down his pants. She runs her hands down his arms, his chest, finally resting them on his hips. She looks back up at him, biting her lower lip in thought.

‘Can I… can I tell you what I’d like to do?’ she asks shyly.

‘Yeah, of course,’ he says, reaching out to take her in his arms. She sits down on his knee and buries her face against his neck; she must be blushing because he feels the heat against his skin.

‘What is it, Lizzie? I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ he laughs, stroking her hair. He wonders what she wants to do--she has been a continuous surprise to him, especially in bed. And it’s probably really good, he thinks, like maybe licking whipped cream off her body or fucking her in her office or the precinct… he finds himself getting hard as he thinks about it, bringing her to the interrogation room and bending her over the table as she wraps her legs around his waist… he moans and she pulls back from him in surprise, then looks down.

‘Well, I didn’t think I was that alluring,’ she quips.

‘You are, but I was just thinkin’ of all the things you might want to do… got a bit distracted,’ he admits.

She drops her eyes and strokes the back of his neck. ‘What… what were you thinking about?’ she asks.

He runs his hand along her hip. ‘Thinkin’ that you might want to… have a little fun in one of the interrogation rooms, you know.’

She looks up at him abruptly and he drinks her in--the dark eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips.

‘And then what?’ she breathes.

‘Well you’d be sittin’ up on the table, wearin’ one of your tight little skirts, legs crossed as you discuss some case or whatever. And Phil would leave because it’s late and Elaine has dinner waitin’ and you’d get down from the table, your skirt hitchin’ up as you slide down. It’s late and no one else is here, so I step over to you and push it up even further. And you--well, you’d grab my tie and pull me closer so you could kiss me, and then…’ he looks down and notices her breathing has quickened and a rosy flush has spread from her chest up. 

‘Don’t stop.’

‘Y’know those silky blouses you like? Those drapey ones?’

She nods.

‘Well they’d be very… convenient, y’know. Wouldn’t have to take it off to feel you… and then you’d lean back and rest on your elbows, looking up at me. I’d step closer, slide my hands up your thighs, find those incredibly sexy suspenders and stockings, and you’d unbuckle my belt and slip your hand inside my pants and…’

She moans and presses herself closer against him. ‘What next?’

He lays her back on the bed and starts to unfasten her bra. ‘And then you’d beg me to take you there, then,’ he tells her. ‘You’d grasp the edge of the table and wrap your legs around me and you would be calling my name because you wanted me, wanted me so bad you couldn’t wait and didn’t care who could see us.’

‘God, yes!’ she moans, wrapping a leg around his hips. ‘Oh, Mike, please--’

‘Patience is a virtue, Dr. Olivet,’ he teases her, and she groans in frustration, falling back against the bed. He lies down next to her, almost uncomfortably hard by now but not wanting to give in, not yet. ‘So, what did you want to do? I’ve shared one of my fantasies with you, so it’s only fair.’

‘I--I always wondered what it would be like to watch… could we make love in front of a mirror?’ she asks, still flushed from arousal, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

He finds the idea immediately appealing. He’s a visual person, and this’ll be like being in their own personal sex tape but without worrying about its continuing existence… not that that would stop him from suggesting it at a later time. ‘Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it. Where?’

She sits up in bed. ‘Um, there’s that standing mirror in the guest room--that might work, right?’

‘Yeah, that’ll work. I’ll get it,’ he offers, and leaves her in the bed. This’ll be nice, it’ll be fantastic he can’t wait for it, to take her from behind… he grins to himself. This was definitely not something he ever expected from the prim and proper Dr. Olivet. Hell, if anyone had told him… what, nearly a year ago now, that he’d be fucking the poised and polished police psychologist he would’ve sent them to her to get their head shrunk.

She’s naked and sprawled on the bed, waiting for him.

‘Stay right there,’ he says, setting down the mirror. He adjusts it, looking back to make sure he can see her fully. ‘OK, that’ll work,’ he says, then sits down next to her.

‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ she asks, wide eyes looking into his with concern.

‘Oh yeah,’ he says with enthusiasm, bending down to kiss her. ‘I want you, Lizzie.’ He dips his head to kiss the base of her throat, feeling her quick heartbeat against his lips. ‘I want to watch you come.’

She lets out a shaky sigh and even if he hadn’t her gotten all worked up he knows that she’d be well on the way now.

‘Mm, c’mon now, Lizzie, like this,’ he says, urging her to sit on his lap at the end of the bed. ‘Okay, can you see yourself? Is this good?’ he asks her, embracing her from behind. He feels her nod, then looks up, looking at their reflection in the mirror. He rests his chin on her shoulder and looks at them for a long moment. Her skin is flushed with arousal, her hair is a bright auburn cloud about her face, and her eyes glitter darkly, intent on their reflection. Then he looks at himself, his cheek against hers, his eyes dark too. He watches as he wraps an arm around her waist, his large hand settling possessively on her abdomen. She shivers beneath his touch, and he grins. He didn’t realize it until now--how delicate she is compared to him. His hand practically spans her entire waist.

‘I love the way we look together,’ she says quietly, moving back against him. ‘You’re so handsome, Mike.’

‘And you are gorgeous,’ he says, bringing his other hand around to caress her small but perfect breasts. She sighs happily, tilting her head to let him kiss her neck. He does, nuzzling her soft skin as he runs a thumb across her nipple, which stiffens immediately. He bites her collarbone and she gasps, turning slightly to look into his eyes.

‘Look in the mirror,’ he tells her. She nods and he pulls her back against him, pressing his erection against her. ‘D’you feel what you do to me?’ he asks her, and he’s astonished at how low his voice is, how much she’s affected him.

‘Oh, yes,’ she whispers, wriggling against him. ‘Oh, Mike, I want you, want you so much, please,’ she begs. Her eyes meet his in the mirror and he grins at her.

‘God, Lizzie, you’re all worked up,’ he says, continuing to caress her breasts with one hand and then moves his other down between her legs.

She moans, eyes closing as he continues to touch her. ‘Open your eyes, Lizzie,’ he says, nipping at her neck. ‘Watch me as I touch you.’

‘This is so… erotic,’ she whispers. ‘Mike, I want you now, I can’t wait, please...’

‘On your knees,’ he says and she obeys without hesitation. ‘Open your legs and hold onto the footboard.’

He runs a hand down her thigh as he moves closer to her. ‘You ready?’

‘Are you kidding?’ her laugh is deep and sexy and he could practically come right now listening to her. ‘Please, Mike!’

He laughs too and then enters her. She moans, grinding her hips back against his, taking him in deeper. He looks into the mirror as he thrusts into her, captivated by the way she looks, the intent expression on his face, the way he can see her, all of her, and God she looks good.

‘God, Mike, amazing, you’re fantastic, so good!’ she cries, growing increasingly incoherent as he thrusts into her. She climaxes quickly and powerfully, throwing back her head and crying out. He watches her in the mirror, his body working on automatic as he finds himself completely absorbed by the way she looks, her white throat exposed, every muscle in her slender body tense as she moves on top of him. He cries out her name and pulls her down again, spilling inside her.

‘Oh, honey,’ he says with a happy sigh, pulling out of her and flopping back on the bed. ‘Oh, God, that was good.’

‘Just good?’ she asks, snuggling next to him. ‘Because I thought it was pretty damn fantastic.’

He laughs and kisses the top of her head. ‘You’re right. It was fantastic--fanfuckingtastic. We should definitely do it again,’ he agrees.

‘It was so… erotic, watching us,’ she admits. ‘Being able to see you, see me… it was amazing. You are amazing.’ She drapes one leg on top of his and rests her head on his chest.

‘You too,’ he murmurs, feeling sleepy all of the sudden. He yawns and she wraps her arms around him.

‘What about dinner?’ she asks, but her voice is sleepy too.

‘We could have just a little nap, right?’ he asks, and he feels her nod as he passes into exhausted and sated sleep.

 

He wakes up to an empty bed. The clock on her nightstand reads 9:38 and he stretches with satisfaction, feeling rested and happy. Some delicious smells are emanating from the kitchen and he rolls out of bed, steps into his boxers, and walks out of the bedroom.

She is standing at the stove, moving around the kitchen with purpose. She’s slipped into a silky dark green negligee and has a glass of wine in her hand. She’s set the kitchen table and there is another glass set out for him.

‘Smells delicious,’ he says, stepping into the kitchen.

‘Just something simple--salad, chicken, pasta,’ she says. ‘There’s wine if you’d like, or beer.’

‘Thanks,’ he says, pouring a glass of wine.

She puts down their dinner on the table and joins him.

‘You know, you could… leave a few things here, if you’d like. Clothes-wise,’ she offers offhandedly, spearing a crouton.

‘Yeah?’ he asks, uncomfortable for a minute. This is moving fast, but he said he wanted this. It’s not a big deal, not like she’s leaving stuff at his place. It shouldn’t freak him out. It's not a marriage proposal, just a sign that spending time with her was more pleasant than evenings alone in his apartment. ‘That would be good.’

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Great. Not that I don’t love seeing you walk around in just your boxers… but wouldn’t it be nice if, when you spent the night, you didn’t have to get up so early to change, you know?’

‘Yeah, it’ll give us a lot more time in the morning for some… wake-up calls,’ he says, grinning at the possibility.

‘And I look forward to them. What are you doing tomorrow night?’

‘Pick-up game with some guys from the precinct, then dinner. You?’

‘I need to speak to Jim, tell him what’s going on,’ she says. ‘I owe him an explanation. He is a friend, a good one, and I want him to stay a good friend. That’s important to me, Mike--I hope you can understand that.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ he says after a pause. ‘Maybe we can get together later? I can bring some things over and you can help me pick out a suit or something to wear to the opera?’

Her smile is radiant. ‘Yes, of course. That sounds perfect.’

‘Good,’ he says, finishing up his chicken. ‘Now, I’ll clean up and meet you in bed.’

She gets up from the table and smooths back his hair, then kisses his cheek. ‘See you in bed. And then maybe--well, maybe we can talk about one of your fantasies.’ She gives him a cheeky grin and he returns it, giving her a little smack on her behind as she walks out of the room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Liz go to the opera and meet some of her friends; he recalls an earlier case and notes the gulf between their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers might recognize Audrey Rouget, Charlie Black, the Sally Fowler Rat Pack, and the UHBs from Whit Stillman's brilliant movie _Metropolitan_.

‘Do I look all right?’ she asks, stepping out of the bathroom. He turns away from the mirror where he is adjusting his tie and looks at her. She is stunning in a long black silk dress with a high waist, a full skirt, and a low neckline, accentuated by her long pearl necklace.

‘Better than all right,’ he says, stepping over to her. In her heels she can comfortably rest her chin on his shoulder, and she does so now when he takes her into his arms. ‘You look wonderful.’

She pulls back from him. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ she says, reaching out to adjust his tie. ‘Are you almost ready to go?’

‘Just about,’ he says. He walks back to the mirror and ducks down to make sure he looks all right. Yeah, he looks good. He laughs as he recalls the words of a bouncer at one of those preppy clubs when he and Max were investigating a case. ‘You’d make it in the looks department, but the wardrobe needs work.’ Well, he’d definitely be welcomed in tonight, especially with Liz on his arm. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

 

Lincoln Center is packed with people in black tie milling about, men standing with hands in pockets, chatting, and women kissing each other on the cheek and exclaiming how wonderful it is to be together. It is ridiculous--some of these women are wearing his salary around their necks. He feels uncomfortable with this show--it’s more like a circus than he expected and he’s never been anywhere like this. It’s like they’re speaking a different language, one that he doesn’t understand.

What is he doing here? Why is he here? This is not his place--he should be spending Saturday night at a bar, not at the opera, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t even speak Italian, how’s he gonna know what’s going on?

He feels a squeeze on his arm and he looks down at the woman at his side. Oh, right, this is why he’s here, he remembers. This woman, beguiling and sexy and yeah, way better than him, is why he’s here.

‘Let’s get a drink, hmm?’ she suggests, and he nods in relief. She leads him to the bar on the upper level and they make their way through the crowd. She orders a glass of champagne for herself and looks at him.

‘Bushmills, neat, please,’ he says, and the bartender nods. When they have their drinks, Mike looks down at her. ‘Cheers,’ he says.

‘Thank you for coming,’ she tells him, laying a hand on his arm. ‘I’m so happy you came.’

Before he can say anything someone calls Liz’s name, and she turns around.

‘Audrey!’ she exclaims delightedly, setting down her champagne to kiss a dark-haired woman hello. ‘How are you, my dear?’

‘Oh, I’m fine--busy, you know. It’s nice to see you.’

‘Yes, you too--how long has it been?’

‘Let’s see… I suppose the last time was at the club that night with Charlie, Fred, and Sally.’

‘Oh yes!’ she laughs. ‘That was a fun evening.’

‘Are you coming to Sally’s party next week?’ Audrey asks.

He watches as Liz flushes, darts a glance at him, and then looks back at her.

‘I’m not sure,’ she hedges. ‘It depends on a few things.’

‘Oh, Liz, you have to! Sally will be so disappointed if you don’t.’

‘Audrey, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce you--this is Mike Logan,’ she says, changing the subject abruptly. ‘Mike, this is Audrey Rouget--she and I went to Farmington together.’

‘How do you do?’ she says politely, extending her hand.

‘Are you here with Charlie?’ Liz asks.

‘Yes, he’s just getting programs. Oh, here he is,’ she says, and he looks over at the tall man with horn-rimmed glasses.

‘Oh, hello, Liz,’ he says when he joins them, bending to kiss her cheek. She returns his greeting with a smile.

‘Charlie, this is Mike Logan. Mike, this is Charlie Black,’ Audrey says, introducing them.

Charlie looks as comfortable as anyone possibly could in this situation, he notes, and he stands close to Audrey though he doesn’t touch her. He is dressed well, although without much effort, unlike Audrey who is dressed with an exacting attention to just the right look.

‘Nice to meet you,’ he says, extending his hand. Charlie shakes it, looking at him solemnly through his thick glasses.

‘So, what do you do?’ he asks, shooting a glance at Liz. She’s absorbed in talking to Audrey, her hand on her arm as she tilts her head to listen.

‘You know, about ten years ago I was at Melon’s and someone told me ‘the acid test is whether you take any pleasure in responding to the question, “What do you do?” I’ve never forgotten that.’ He pauses and takes a sip of his cocktail. ‘I’ve always tried to make sure that I can take pleasure in what I do. Right now, it’s writing.’

‘Ah,’ he replies, swigging his Bushmills. ‘What do you write?’

‘Short stories, mostly, about the UHBs.’

‘The… UHBs?’ he asks, stumbling over the odd pronunciation.

‘Urban Haute Bourgeoisie. It’s a more accurate moniker than “preppie” or “WASP”--we came up with it a decade or so ago during the last of the deb seasons.’

Is he speaking English? he thinks, staring at him blankly.

‘So they’re mostly stories about those last days… Scribner’s is publishing an illustrated edition in the autumn. Audrey’s been editing it for me.’

He nods again, then motions for another drink, shooting a glance at Liz. Just as he takes his first sip of whiskey, the gentle chimes ring, signalling the beginning of the opera.

‘Time to go in,’ Liz says, extricating herself from her conversation. ‘Audrey, it was so wonderful to see you,’ she tells her, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Could we do dinner soon, please? You can have your assistant ring me at the office.’

‘Yes, of course, Liz,’ she says, returning her kiss. ‘And I do hope we’ll see you at Sally’s party next week.

‘I’ll do my best. Charlie, it was wonderful to see you too,’ she adds, embracing him.

‘You too, Liz,’ he says, then takes Audrey’s arm and leads her away. She turns to him.

‘I’m so sorry, Mike,’ she apologizes, looking up into his eyes. ‘I just haven’t seen Audrey in ages… but I shouldn’t have abandoned you to Charlie. He honestly has no grasp on life that doesn’t revolve around the SFRP.’

‘The SFRP?’

She giggles. ‘The Sally Fowler Rat Pack. Oh, it’s too complicated to explain now. Let’s go in.’

‘Okay,’ he agrees, allowing her to take his arm and steer her to their seats.

 

He’s surprised when she stops in front of an entrance to a box. She produces the two tickets and they are ushered inside. She precedes him down the stairs and settles in the front row.

‘Y’know, I’m just gonna run to the bathroom, okay?’ he says to her. She turns around, looks at him, and nods.

‘Hurry back, though, it starts soon, and they won’t let you in if you’re not back before it starts.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, bending down to kiss her lightly on the cheek. He then hightails it back to the bar to grab another whiskey before rejoining her in the box.

‘Just in time,’ she murmurs as he slides into the seat as the lights dim. ‘Here, I brought this for you--it’s a little synopsis of the opera.’ She hands him a worn and faded paperback. ‘Daddy never followed the opera so he’d always bring this along when we went.’

He takes it from her and looks at her, but she is watching the stage. He flips open the book and begins to read as the singing starts.

 

‘So what do you think?’ she murmurs at the interval.

‘It’s… pretty good,’ he admits reluctantly. ‘This helped,’ he says, tapping the cover of the book.

She smiles. ‘I’m glad. I’ll admit to refreshing my memory before we came myself… there are so many details to keep straight!’

‘Can we get a drink?’ he asks.

She laughs. ‘Yes, let’s get a drink.’

They go downstairs to the bar once again, and he orders another Bushmills. She asks for another glass of champagne, then he rests his hand on her lower back and steers her to a free corner.

‘How much longer is this? Because I have to say that I’m looking forward to getting you out of that dress,’ he murmurs, turning to whisper in her ear. Yeah, he wants her, but he also wants to be back where he’s comfortable, her bed. They’re on equal footing there and it’s so much better than being here with all these people. He feels awkward, like everyone’s looking at him, though he knows he’s dressed okay and seems to fit in.

She shivers under his touch, then looks at him. ‘Not too much longer. It’ll be worth it, I promise.’

‘The opera or after?’ he asks.

‘Oh, after, of course,’ she laughs, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. He brings his hand up to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear.

‘I want you now, though,’ he murmurs lowly, and her breath catches in her throat.

He kisses her temple, her cheek, and just bends down to kiss her lips when the chimes sound again. He rests his forehead against hers and sighs.

‘Just think--it means it’s closer to being over,’ she says with a little laugh. ‘And then we can go home.’

‘Good,’ he says with enthusiasm. He picks up his whiskey and drains it in a final gulp, then they go back to their box and the rest of the opera.

 

As soon as the opera is over and the cast has taken their bows, they make their way out of Lincoln Center.

‘God, it’s going to be impossible to get a cab,’ he says, already annoyed after fighting their way through a lobby full of penguin-suited men and fat women in too-tight dresses.

‘Oh, my godfather sent his driver to pick us up,’ she says, slipping her hand through his arm. ‘He’s meeting us on the corner.’

He is thrown off balance by the casual way she mentions it. ‘That was nice of him.’

‘He always does. He’s a very sweet man.’ She waves down a man. ‘There he is.’

‘Hello, Miss Liz,’ the short, round man says, grinning at her. ‘You look beautiful.’

‘Thanks, Ronnie,’ she smiles, bending to kiss his cheek. ‘This is Mike Logan.’

‘Nice to meet ya, Mike. Did you enjoy the opera?’ he asks.

‘Oh, it was fine,’ she says offhandedly. ‘Thank you for picking us up--it’s much appreciated.’

‘Any time, my dear, you know that,’ he says.

She smiles and steps into the car--a nice Mercedes, he notes. He follows her in, sitting next to her stiffly as she chats with the driver about her godfather, their friends, and the opera. Finally they pull up to her building.

‘Thank you, Ronnie. Have a good night,’ she says, blowing him a kiss.

‘See you soon, Miss Liz,’ he replies.

He follows her out of the car, his hand on her waist, and for a moment he thinks about how they must look to people watching them. For all intents and purposes, they are a rich, happy couple coming home from a night at the opera. It’s not the case. He can’t give her this, not even close, and he drops his hand as though he’s been scalded. How is she going to want him still?

‘What is it?’ she asks, turning to him. ‘What’s wrong?’

He shakes his head slightly. They can deal with this later, after he’s made sure she knows what she means to him, so she doesn’t leave him. ‘Nothing--I’m fine,’ he tells her, and she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. ‘C’mon, let’s go upstairs.’

She nods and they walk to the elevator. As soon as the doors close he takes her into his arms and holds her tight. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her chin on his shoulder.

‘You’re the only person in the world I want,’ she says softly, almost inaudibly.

His heart leaps at her words despite his doubts, his discomfort this evening, his knowledge that what she has is something way more than what he can give her, if she is willing to take what he has to offer. If he is willing to offer what he can…

The elevator doors open but he doesn’t want to let her go. She gently steps out of his embrace and takes his hand, bringing him down the hall to her apartment. She unlocks the door and they walk inside.

‘I’m tired,’ he admits, and he is--he is suddenly exhausted.

‘I know,’ she says, looking at him with clear grey eyes. She touches his cheek lightly. ‘I’m tired too.’

‘So, bed?’ he suggests halfheartedly.

‘Yes, of course.’ She kicks off her shoes and they walk down the hallway to her bedroom.

He undresses in silence and she watches him, sitting on the edge of her bed in all her finery. She is completely silent and solemn, her eyes following him as he moves around the room. He strips down to his boxers and then sits next to her. She reaches out and takes his hand and he looks back at her.

‘Can I help you undress?’ he offers, and she nods. She stands up and he unzips her dress, running his hands down her sides. She steps out of it and then walks to the closet to hang up the dress. When she vanishes into the bathroom, he pulls back the sheets and slips into bed, waiting for her.

God, her bed is so soft and comfortable. Well, that’s what money can do, he thinks--wrap you in comfort. She walks back into the room and she’s wearing a simple white silk nightgown--it’s the first time she’s worn anything to bed with him and she looks beautiful even with something on. He’s aroused despite his exhaustion; he wants her, wants her always, and it’s ridiculous that after all this time she can still make him burn.

‘Come to bed,’ he says.

She does, kissing him lightly as she slides between the sheets. He pulls her to him automatically, pulling up her nightgown. Her breath hitches in her throat as he kisses her, one hand slipping under the waistband of her panties. She pulls back from him and brings her hands to his hips, pushing down his boxers. He can still reach her and kisses her neck, her collarbone, and he reaches up to push the strap of her nightgown down to kiss her shoulder.

She strokes his cheek. ‘Darling,’ she whispers. ‘I want you. Do you know how much I want you?’ He looks into her beautiful clear grey eyes and he knows that what she says is true. He feels a weight that he didn’t know was pressing on his heart lift.

‘I know,’ he replies, pulling her down for a kiss. ‘Come here, please. Please.’

He kisses her softly, gently, trying to tell her, show her, what she means to him. She can use words, but he’s never been able to. She wraps her arms around his neck, allows him to roll her onto her back, and doesn’t let him go.

 

He struggles up out of a deep sleep to the touch of her hand on his cheek. He opens his eyes and sees her smiling down at him.

‘I made you some coffee,’ she says, setting down a cup on the nightstand. ‘I’m going to run out and get something for breakfast, all right? Breakfast sandwiches, maybe?’

She’s already dressed, he notices now, in jeans, a turtleneck, and a thick wool sweater.

‘Yeah, that sounds good,’ he replies. ‘Want me to come with you?’

‘No, stay here,’ she says, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘Go back to sleep. You’ve had a busy week, you deserve to sleep in a bit.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ he says, capturing her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist. He watches her as she leaves the bedroom, listening as the door closes behind her.

He’s completely awake after she leaves him, and he climbs out of the bed, sitting on the edge and taking a sip of his coffee. He’s never been alone in her apartment before and he is curious. Call it the detective in him, but he wants to know. It’s easier for him to piece together pieces of a person by their things than their words. It’s his job. And he’s with her, he wants to know more about her, and that’s not wrong, is it? But he doesn’t know how to ask.

He strolls over to her dresser and looks at the items she’s collected. There are a series of silver-framed photographs scattered across the surface and he peers at them closely. There’s a photograph of a house, a little sailboat with Liz-as-a-child sailing it, a society photograph of a distinguished silver-haired gentleman with Liz’s eyes and a woman with her coloring and smile. There is also a photograph of her in a cap and gown holding a diploma, the same adults flanking her, and Liz-as-a-teenager with a group of girls, smiling and holding tennis racquets. He moves on. There’s a large silver box that he opens, looking at the rows of necklaces, pairs of earrings, bracelets, all lined up. There are pearls and emeralds and silver jewelry. Next to the jewelry box is a crystal vial of perfume, a small alabaster vase filled with flowers, a candle from Paris that smells like jonquils. He opens her dresser drawers, looking at the piles of lingerie, the neat rows of shirts, pants, and sweaters. He goes to her nightstand and looks at the books stacked there-- _Tender is the Night_ , a book of poems by someone called Anne Sexton, _The Social Animal_ , and _501 French Verbs_. There is also a thin leather-bound book and a Montblanc pen. He picks it up and opens it. It is a diary of sorts and he closes it immediately, unwilling to invade her privacy to this extent.

He picks up his now-cold cup of coffee and drains it in a gulp, then goes into the closet to pull out a pair of pants and a shirt from what he’s brought over. They can go out later, maybe take a walk in the Park. He walks through to the living room and sprawls on the sofa, picking up yesterday’s newspaper and leafing through to the weather report. Well, maybe no on the walk, actually, as it’s meant to snow. He looks out her window onto Park Avenue and sees a few flakes drifting down already. So… maybe not. He goes into the kitchen and brews some more coffee, then prowls around her living room.

Unlike his apartment, hers is extremely well-decorated and cohesive. Besides, it is a great apartment--high-ceilinged with large windows that look out onto Park Avenue. There are built-in bookshelves that are completely filled with all sorts of books, a marble fireplace, and comfortable but stylish furniture--two cushioned chairs flanking the fireplace, the long sofa, bronze and glass tables. The end tables hold trinkets and even more silver-framed photographs. He picks up one of the photographs on the table and looks at it, and she is looking at a man in the photograph, her hands on his shoulder as she laughs up at him, her face in profile. It’s not a recent picture but he recognizes the Lizzie he knows in the curve of the young woman’s throat, the way she laughs. There is so much of her life pictured here and he has no idea about any of it. He wants to know.

He hears her keys in the lock and Liz comes into the apartment.

‘It’s snowing!’ she announces delightedly, stepping into the apartment with her hands full of bags. ‘I’m sorry it took me so long, I wanted to stock up on groceries so we didn’t have to go out again. I’ve got breakfast right here.’

‘Let me help,’ he says, meeting her in the kitchen and taking the bags out of her arms. She stretches up to kiss him, pressing her cold face up against his.

‘I’m freezing and starving and all I want is you,’ she says. ‘So can we just make some coffee and take breakfast to bed and make the most of a snowy winter’s day?’

He grins. ‘Sounds perfect,’ he says, and starts unpacking the groceries.

She starts making coffee and takes out their breakfast sandwiches, setting everything on a tray. He shoves the last bits of food into the fridge and follows her into her bedroom. She’s set up the tray and kicked off her shoes, sitting up on the bed as she pours them coffee.

‘There’s nothing like a bacon egg and cheese,’ she says after she takes a bite. ‘Especially on a Sunday morning.’ He unwraps his own sandwich and then leans back against the headboard.

‘Tell me about you, Liz,’ he says. ‘What’s your favorite restaurant, favorite food?’

He times the question wrong and she starts coughing, nearly choking on her coffee. When she recovers, she laughs. ‘What?’ he asks, annoyed.

‘My God, Mike, what’s with the third degree?’

He shrugs. ‘I mean… we don’t… we’re colleagues. We sleep together--we are together,’ he corrects. ‘And you know me--you know me better than anyone else. But there’s still so much I don’t know about you. I was thinkin’ about it today, you know, lookin’ at your pictures--I don’t know any of the stories, Lizzie, and I want to.’

She sets down her coffee cup and tidies up the tray, setting it aside on her nightstand. Then she scoots back and leans against the footboard, facing him. ‘Okay. What do you want to know?’ She brings her knees up to her chest and hugs them to her, and to his eyes she looks nervous, though he doesn’t know why.

‘Maybe start with the photos on your dresser?’ he suggests.

‘Okay,’ she says tentatively. ‘Let’s see. Well, there’s a picture of me graduating from Barnard with my parents. I started off studying sociology and then switched to psychology the second semester of my sophomore year. I always liked observing people, studying them, but after a friend was assaulted, I realized I wanted to help people. Psychology seemed a good way to combine those two things, especially as I didn’t think I could stomach med school. I’ve never liked the sight of blood. After Barnard, I went to Columbia for my Ph.D., lived here, did my internship at Lenox Hill. I started off working at a family friend’s practice when I finished my degree six years ago, started my own practice two years ago focusing on victimology and children’s psychology, and then I wanted to get more first-hand experience, so I decided to start working at the precinct.’

Considering how important her work is to her and that it is what brought them together, he is surprised he’s never heard this before. Well, he knew she went to Barnard and Columbia but he didn’t know why she started studying psychology.

She leans forward and picks up her cup of coffee, takes a sip then continues. ‘I grew up sailing on the Sound, and when I was seven I won my first regatta. It was just a little thing in the Junior Club, but I was so happy. My mother took that photo.’

‘Do you still sail?’ he asks.

‘Every summer. Not as often as I’d like, but it’s my favorite thing to do. Being on the water… it’s freeing. It’s an essential part of me, always has been.’ She catches his eye, blushes, and drops her gaze.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know. It just feels… odd, to talk so much about myself. My career is about listening. It’s what I do best.’

‘I mean, you’re pretty damn good in bed too, Lizzie,’ he says with a laugh, then grows serious again when he looks at her. ‘But you’re good at it, your job. I don’t think--no, I know--that I wouldn’t have been able to get past Max’s death without your help. I never would’ve been able to accept it. You helped me through that.’

She sighs and looks away, biting her lip. He’s silent, watching her, waiting for her to speak. Finally she looks back at him, her brow furrowed.

‘Are you with me because of that?’ she asks. ‘Because I was your shrink? Because you didn’t have to tell me anything as I already knew?’

‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘No, of course not, honey.’ He doesn’t even have to pause to consider it. He wants her despite that.

Suddenly her lower lip trembles and he reaches out for her. She crawls into his arms and he holds her against his chest, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks. This is the first time he’s ever seen her so vulnerable and he doesn’t know what to do. ‘What’s wrong, Lizzie?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she says, and he brings a hand up to stroke her hair.

‘You can talk to me.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she repeats, voice thickening as she fights back tears. ‘I’m tired, that’s all.’

He knows that’s not the case but he doesn’t want to press. ‘All right. D’you want to take a little rest?’

He feels her nod against his chest, and he kisses her forehead. ‘Okay. I’m just gonna watch some TV, but I’ll be in the other room if you need me.’

She nods again and lets go of him, turning away but not before he sees her brush away a few tears. He pretends not to see it and leaves her in her room.

 

He mindlessly flips through the channels on the TV, finally settling on an episode of _Cheers!_ He turns down the volume and although he fixes his eyes on the television, he allows his mind to wander. What’s going on with Liz? She was so happy when she came back from the store and then suddenly things changed. Was it his curiosity that made her nervous? This was the first time he had ever seen her vulnerable and, if he was honest, it was a bit of a relief. Throughout this whole thing he’s been the one who gave himself away, who laid himself open to her scrutiny. This was the first glimpse he’s had of a layer he didn’t suspect of the very complex woman he’s sleeping with.

What does she want? He has no idea. He really has no idea what he wants either, besides her, and he knows she knows it. But Liz--she said last night that she doesn’t want anyone else in the world but him, but what does that mean? Does she just want him in her bed? Does she want to share a life with him? Does she just want to be friends, colleagues?

No, he knows that she doesn’t just want that. She couldn’t… he flips off the TV suddenly and pads softly into her bedroom. He eases open the door silently and looks at the woman sleeping soundly in her bed. Vulnerable again, he thinks. He sits down on the edge of her bed and she stirs, rolling over. She opens her eyes and gives him a small smile.

‘Hey,’ he says softly. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Better,’ she replies. ‘I’m sorry about before.’

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and bends down to kiss her lips lightly. ‘Don’t be. But is everything all right?’

She nods and runs her hand down his arm. ‘Next Thursday I have to go to this party. My parents called this morning first thing to tell me they would be there and that they expect to see me.’

‘Is this what you were talking about at the opera?’ he asks.

‘Yes--Sally Fowler’s birthday party. It’s ridiculous, I know--but she’s an old family friend and I should go--I’ll have to go.’ She pauses. ‘They expect me to go with Jim.’

He stiffens immediately and involuntarily, looking away from her.

‘I know,’ she says, rubbing his arm soothingly. ‘The thing is, Mike, I can’t go to this sort of thing alone. It’s… embarrassing. Going to a nightclub by yourself… you can’t do that, you have to go with someone you can dance with.’

‘Well, why can’t I take you, then?’ he asks impetuously.

Her hand tightens on his arm and he looks into her eyes. ‘You could, of course. Do you mean it?’

He shrugs, annoyed that he’s gotten himself into this but unwilling to let her go with Jim. ‘If you want me to. I mean, I could easily go. Why not, right?’

‘Right,’ she agrees.

‘Yeah, okay then. Fine. I’ll take you.’

‘Are you sure? My parents will be there, all our friends.’ 

‘Are you ashamed of me, embarrassed, what?’ he asks, anger flaring.

‘No, not at all,’ she protests, taking his face in her hands. ‘Mike, of course not. I just want you to know… I don’t want you to be surprised. It would be unfair to you. My parents are… exhaustive, exacting.’

‘Liz, if you just wanna go with Jim, tell me.’

‘I want to go with you,’ she says firmly. ‘Mike, I want you to take me.’

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘What time is it?’

‘It starts at eleven at the club.’

‘Great. Well, we can have dinner first then go.’

Before she can say anything else he kisses her, pushing her back against the bed. She immediately begins unbuttoning his shirt. He pushes down the blankets, finding that she is wearing nothing but an old t-shirt. He unbuckles his belt and kicks off his pants.

They don’t waste time in foreplay; he thrusts into her almost immediately.

‘You are mine,’ he groans. ‘Mine, mine, mine.’

She cries out as she begins to come, moaning loudly. He’s gripping her hips so hard that he knows she will be bruised later, but he wants to mark her. Her nails as they dig into his back will certainly leave scrapes too. She is his, isn’t she? She confirms it with her cries.

When he comes, he falls down next to her and holds her tight in his arms, running his hand down her back. ‘I need you.’

He looks down at her and sees that she is asleep, so he kisses her temple. ‘My love.’

She shifts in her sleep, moving closer to him. He already regrets agreeing to take her to this stupid party--he doesn’t want to meet her parents, her friends. He wants it to be just them. But they don’t exist in a vacuum. Either they’re gonna go out together and be a part of each other’s lives, or be nothing at all. And he wants to be a part of her life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Liz go to a nightclub and he meets Liz's parents and his romantic rival.

‘Can you come in here and help me with my necklace, please?’ she calls from the bathroom. He’s finished getting dressed--he’s wearing one of his nicer suits and a white shirt, which she insisted was appropriate attire for the evening.

‘It’s a different sort of nightclub,’ she claimed, and so he shrugged and agreed to wear a suit and tie.

She is leaning forward and looking into the mirror, regarding herself critically, though he doesn’t know how she could find fault with her flawless appearance. He is astonished at her outfit. She’s wearing a short, strappy black silk dress that bares her back and she looks undeniably sexy and completely unlike the prim psychologist he met over a year ago. He comes up behind her and rests his hands on her waist, feeling the black silk against her skin. The dress has left her shoulders mostly bare, and he bends down to kiss her smooth neck, looking into the mirror at the two of them. She meets his eyes and smiles broadly, her grey eyes meeting his with such frank love and affection that it takes his breath away. How on earth could she feel like this about him? How did he ever get this lucky?

‘You look gorgeous,’ he tells her, trailing kisses down her shoulder. ‘I’m going to have to be careful not to lose you to some good-looking guy tonight. Everybody’s eyes are gonna be on you.’

She laughs, quipping, ‘Flattery will get you nowhere, but don’t stop trying. Here--could you fasten this for me, please?’ she asks, handing him a thin gold chain. He does as he’s told, his fingers feeling stiff and clumsy with the delicate clasp. Finally he fastens it around her neck and she smiles. ‘Thank you.’

‘Are you sure this is okay?’

‘Of course--everyone else will be wearing suits. You met Charlie--you can’t tell me that you could picture him in anything but a suit, surely!’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah, I guess not. So, should we go?’

‘Yes, I’m just about ready. I’ll meet you in the hall?’ she suggests, and he nods.

A few minutes later she joins him, pausing to adjust her necklace once more before she collects her coat. ‘All right, are you ready?’

‘Yes, I’m ready,’ he says.

She locks the door behind them as he presses the button for the elevator. When it arrives, she grips his hand tightly and he looks over at her.

‘It’ll be fine, right?’ she asks. ‘You’re okay with this?’

‘I offered,’ he replies abruptly.

She darts a glance at him. ‘That’s not an answer.’

He attempts to quell his annoyance at her question, the restriction of his suit and tie, but is unsuccessful. She should already know, shouldn’t she? ‘Look, I wanna be with you,’ he snaps impatiently. ‘I wanna finish up a long day’s shift at the precinct and know that I can come here and know that you will be there for me. And if that means goin’ with you to things like this, then I’ll suck it up, okay? No need for the third degree.’

Suddenly she is in his arms and kissing him, pressing herself up against him. He returns her kisses, feeling his frustration melt away at her touch as he deepens the kiss. She pulls back abruptly when the elevator doors open, smoothing down her dress.

‘Well, that makes it a bit better,’ he says, quirking a smile.

‘You have lipstick all over your face,’ she murmurs, reaching up to wipe it off with her thumb. ‘All right, that’s better. Let’s go.’

 

There’s a long line outside when their cab pulls up. Liz exits confidently, taking his hand as they approach the velvet rope, which the bouncer immediately unclips to let them in, much to the dissatisfaction of the people waiting.

‘Do you… come here often?’ he asks in surprise as they walk down the alley to the back entrance of the club.

She looks over at him and shrugs. ‘I mean, I go with friends on occasion, but not that often.’

‘Often enough that the bouncer recognized you,’ he presses.

She smiles at him. ‘Well, we all used to come here a lot when we were younger, in its heyday. It seemed a natural progression from deb balls to discos. I guess the old guard still has some privileges.’

He stops and watches as she walks ahead; just as she gets to the door she turns around.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ she asks, and he nods and hurries to catch up with her.

 

When they step into the club, the first thing he notices is the noise. Yeah, he’s used to going out, but not to this sort of club. It’s not loud with televisions blaring sports games in the background or pool games going on. The sounds here are of music and people chattering, lights flashing in time to the beat. This place is all red carpets and gilded columns, fresh flowers by the banquettes, men in suits and women in strappy, sparkly dresses. There are even people in costumes, and everyone is dancing.

‘We’re over here,’ she says, indicating the far corner. She grabs his hand and pulls him through the crowd, finally stopping when they reach a cluster of people.

‘Liz!’ a blonde in a short pink dress exclaims. ‘I’m so glad you could come!’

‘Hello, Sally,’ she smiles, leaning over the back of the banquette to kiss her. ‘This is Mike Logan.’

‘Ooh, yes, Audrey told me about you,’ she says to him, extending one hand to grasp his. I’m glad you could come.’

‘Happy birthday,’ he says awkwardly.

‘Thank you. Help yourself to some champagne,’ she says, gesturing. ‘I think Audrey’s over there, Liz, if you want to say hi.’

‘All right--thanks, Sally,’ she says, and then turns back to him. ‘Champagne first or dancing?’

‘Champagne, I think,’ he says and she stretches up to kiss him.

‘Champagne it is,’ she agrees, deftly snagging two glasses from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ he echoes, touching his glass to hers. He watches in astonishment as she downs the glass quickly, then reaches over and picks up another one.

‘What?’ she says, noticing his stare.

‘Nothing,’ he says, taking a swig of his own drink. ‘D’you want to dance?’

‘Yes.’ She sets down her glass and holds out her hands to him, leading him onto the dance floor as ‘Heart of Glass’ starts playing.

‘So what do you think of the club so far?’ she asks as they dance.

‘It’s certainly--interesting,’ he admits. ‘I didn’t think places like this still existed.’

She grins. ‘Yes, it is kind of a dinosaur nowadays--but it is fun, you know. And the music is good!’

The music shifts to ‘Sultans of Swing,’ and she wraps her arms around his neck as they continue to dance. It’s more fun than he expected, and he relaxes as he twirls her. She feels good in his arms, and he’s always enjoyed dancing with a good-looking woman, especially when she looks up at him with a smile and then pulls him down for a kiss.

‘Elizabeth!’ a woman’s voice calls, and she turns away from him to look at the woman who called her name.

‘Who is that?’ he whispers in her ear, unable to catch a good look as the dancing crowd cuts them off again.

‘My mother,’ she sighs, rolling her eyes. ‘Why she insisted on coming, I’ll never know. She hates what this place has become. I should go say hello.’

‘D’you want me to come too?’ he asks awkwardly.

‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ she says. ‘I could use your support.’

He nods and follows her off the dance floor, wrapping his arm around her waist, hand settling possessively on her hip as they walk over to one of the banquettes.

‘Hello, Mummy, hello, Daddy,’ Liz says, stepping out of his embrace to greet her parents. He studies them as they return her greeting; they look just like the photograph on her dresser. Her father is tall, distinguished, with Liz’s steady grey eyes; looking at her mother, he has a very clear glimpse of what Liz will look like in thirty years.

‘Mummy, Daddy, this is Michael Logan. Mike, these are my parents, Isobel and Nick Olivet.’

They look like the WASP trifecta, he thinks, three well-bred individuals all of a set. Her parents regard him superciliously and he straightens his back, glad now that he wore a suit.

‘How do you do?’ her mother asks, extending a languid hand. He takes it and shakes it gently, then takes her father’s proffered hand.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he says, and Liz slips between her parents to stand at his side again, taking his hand.

‘And are you just going to ignore us?’ a woman’s cool, amused voice says, approaching them. She is a sleek, polished blonde, about fifty, elegantly dressed in navy blue sheath, and the man standing next to her is silver-haired and wears importance like a well-cut suit.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Miranda, Peter, I didn’t see you,’ Liz says, smiling at them.

‘Elizabeth, you look lovely,’ Peter says, kissing her on both cheeks.

She grins. ‘You are a shameless flatterer, Peter. I’d like you to meet my date, Michael Logan. Mike, this is my godfather, Peter deVries, and Miranda Darby.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Michael,’ Miranda says warmly, a complete contrast to Liz’s parents. He shakes their hands and conceals his shock at Elizabeth’s godfather. He’s heard of him before, of course--he’s the chairman of the New York Trust Bank, head of a billion museum boards and what-have-you’s, friend to the Mayor and the Commissioner...

‘Won’t you sit down?’ her mother asks them, gracefully subsiding onto the white leather seat. They follow suit, and he looks at them. Before they need to break the uncomfortable silence, a waiter appears with a bottle of champagne and six glasses.

‘So, Michael, how did you and Elizabeth meet?’ Isobel asks, regarding him coolly over the rim of her flute of champagne. ‘I’d quite like to hear the story.’

‘I think we all would,’ Miranda replies, a hint of suppressed laughter in her voice.

‘Um--’ Liz says, biting her lip.

‘Jim!’ Isobel exclaims, interrupting her daughter and waving to a blond, fairly handsome man. ‘How lovely to see you; I didn’t know you’d be here.’

‘Of course--I’d never miss one of Sally’s parties,’ he says, grasping Isobel’s outstretched hand. ‘You look lovely, Mrs. Olivet.’

‘Why, thank you,’ she smiles. ‘Won’t you join us?’

He nods and squeezes in at their table across from him. 

‘Jim, have you met Elizabeth’s date?’ Isobel asks, holding onto Jim’s arm as she darts him a glance so like her daughter. ‘Michael Logan.’

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ Jim says, gripping his hand as though he wants to break it. He raises his eyebrows in surprise that he would so obviously make his dissatisfaction known. ‘Liz, my dear, it’s wonderful to see you. You’re looking radiant,’ he says, his voice soft as he leans across the table to greet her, kissing her far too close to her lips for a friend. He feels a surge of jealousy that is abated only slightly when she sits back next to him, resting her hand on his knee.

‘Thank you, Jim,’ she says, her voice studied and cool as she squeezes his knee. ‘It’s nice to see you too.’

‘So, tell us how you met,’ Jim says, and he looks up in surprise.

‘Yes, tell us, Elizabeth,’ her mother says.

He looks over at her, catching her eye.

‘Well, Mike and I work together--he’s a Detective at the precinct where I consult.’

Isobel’s eyebrows raise in just the same way as her daughter’s. ‘Ah. A detective. That must be a difficult job. Late hours.’

‘Difficult but rewarding,’ he replies, fighting for calm. ‘Yeah, the hours are long and you certainly don’t meet the best class of people, but it’s an important job, and it’s the job I need to do.’

‘And he’s incredibly good at it,’ Liz chimes in proudly, squeezing his hand.

‘If you don’t meet the best class of people, as you call it, should Elizabeth really be working there? Isn’t it dangerous?’ Isobel asks.

‘Mother.’ Liz’s voice is cold.

‘Your mother is right,’ he says, looking at her for a moment before he turns back to Isobel. ‘Yes, sometimes it is dangerous, but Lizzie is well taken care of and any officer at the precinct would step in at any moment if she was in the slightest amount of danger. And what she does--we need her. What she does is so important and she is amazing at it. She’s helped us to get so many convictions and helped get dangerous people off the street. She’s helped make this city a much safer place.’

Isobel looks at him long and hard, her deep blue eyes regarding him seriously. He feels himself flush, but he holds her gaze. Finally she looks away.

‘So, Jim, how is work?’

He feels Liz squeeze his hand again and he knows that he’s won this round.

‘So, Michael, tell me more about your work at the precinct. It sounds fascinating. What specifically do you investigate?’ Miranda asks. He slips into a comfortable conversation with her as another bottle of champagne arrives.

Miranda is kind, both interested and interesting. She is clearly the one who makes this odd arrangement go smoothly, running interference in order to preserve a calm surface. Her partner and Liz’s godfather, Peter, spends most of the next bottle of champagne in close consult with both Isobel and Nick, speaking lowly and importantly. Though Nick sits next to Isobel and involves her in his conversation, he catches Isobel’s gaze more than once, her blue eyes narrowed as she takes in all the tenuous webs of connection around the table.

Even if he didn’t know that this was the guy Liz had been seeing, he would know now. The way he angles his body to hers, rests his hand lightly on the table, stretching out to her, stares at her with unabashed longing. But even though Liz listens to him and talks with him, she openly holds his hand, looking over from time to time to smile at him in an attempt to soothe his jealousy.

‘I love this song,’ Jim says abruptly, draining the last of his champagne. ‘Would you care to dance, Liz?’ Jim says, interrupting him before he can ask. She shoots him an apologetic glance but accepts, and he whirls her off onto the dance floor.

‘If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to dance, Michael,’ Miranda says, resting her hand lightly on his arm. He smiles, inclining his head.

‘I’d be delighted.’

‘Don’t be nervous,’ she chides as he leads her onto the floor. ‘I promise I’m not nearly as bad as Isobel.’

He laughs. ‘Yeah, you seem to be pretty good at running interference.’

She grins up at him. ‘Yes, I’ve become quite practiced at it over the years. They are very… particular people--well, at least, Isobel is. Nick is far more relaxed, but he is quite shy, believe it or not. He lets Isobel do the talking.’ She looks up at him as they continue to dance. ‘You’re serious about her, aren’t you?’ she asks abruptly.

His heart stops for a moment. ‘I thought I was the detective here.’

‘Well, even detectives aren’t infallible.’

He looks at her, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A few things. You called her Lizzie when you were talking about the work she does for the precinct. And the way you look at her. And the fact that you’re here. You can’t tell me that you want to spend your Friday night spinning your girlfriend’s family friend around the dance floor.’

‘Oh.’ He doesn’t know what else to say.

‘Don’t worry--she’s serious about you, too.’

‘What?’ He is completely astonished.

‘I have known Elizabeth her entire life and she has never, ever, let anyone call her Lizzie. Even as a child she insisted that diminutive was infantile. She would never let you call her that unless…’ she trails off suggestively.

‘We haven’t really talked about it--being serious, I mean. We’re trying to figure it out, y’know.’ He shrugs. ‘I dunno why I’m telling you this.’

She smiles. ‘It’s all right. I love Elizabeth like she’s my own daughter--and I’m certainly a less terrifying mother figure than Isobel.’

‘Somehow I don’t think Isobel approves of me,’ he says wryly.

‘No, she doesn’t,’ Miranda says bluntly. ‘She might never approve of you. She has a very specific idea of the man she wants Elizabeth to marry and you don’t match that profile. You didn’t go to prep school, you didn’t go to an Ivy League college, and you aren’t a doctor or a broker or living off inherited money.’

‘Well, thank you for your honesty,’ he says, surprised. He’s not annoyed by her revelation--far from it. Her bluntness is refreshing; he never thought he’d find that here.

‘Listen, that’s not going to bother Elizabeth. She’s never bought into her mother’s snobbery. She is the one who matters, not her mother. And if you stay with Elizabeth, yes, you’ll need to see Isobel, but she’ll always be polite to you. Cold, but polite. You’ll just need to hold your own.’

The song comes to an end.

She smiles. ‘Of course. Just remember--you need to hold your own.’ They start walking back to their table, but she stops before they rejoin the group.

‘Is that an order?’ he asks, laughing at her audacity.

‘Yes,’ she replies bluntly, grinning. ‘It’s for your own good. Now go dance with your girlfriend. She’s waiting for you.’

She is waiting for him, beaming as he approaches her with Miranda on his arm.

‘Your boyfriend is quite a good dancer and conversationalist, Elizabeth,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry for stealing him away from you for so long.’

‘That’s all right, as long as I can steal him back,’ she says, stepping over to him. He smiles at her, completely in awe of how beautiful she is. She takes his hand and it’s right--it feels right.

‘What were you talking about with Miranda?’ she asks, raising her voice to be heard over the Rolling Stones.

‘You, of course.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘Details, please.’

‘Not now,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell you later, but right now, I just want to dance with you.’

‘Okay,’ she agrees, stretching up to kiss him. Completely ignoring the song, he takes her into his arms, resting his cheek against hers.

‘Mm, you feel good,’ he murmurs.

He feels her smile and she kisses his cheek, then his lips. She wraps her arms around his neck and he continues to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her waist as they sway to the music. When they pull apart, he rests his forehead against hers and looks into her eyes.

‘How much longer do we have to stay?’ he asks quietly.

‘Oh, darling, let’s go,’ she murmurs. ‘It’s late, isn’t it?’

He raises his hand to look at his watch. ‘It’s a quarter to two.’

‘Let’s go, please,’ she says, stretching up to kiss him. ‘I can’t wait to get you out of that suit, as sexy as you look in it.’ She dissolves into giggles.

‘Are you drunk?’ he asks, laughing down at her.

‘Oh, a little,’ she replies. ‘Come on, darling, let’s go home. Let’s just say goodnight and go home.’

He steers her off the dance floor back to their table.

‘We’re going home now,’ she announces. ‘Good night.’

‘But it’s still early!’ her mother protests.

‘Mummy, it’s nearly two in the morning, and I’ve had such a long day--I’m exhausted.’

Isobel sighs, but Nick interrupts.

‘That’s all right, darling. Why don’t you and Michael meet us for dinner tomorrow night? Seven thirty at the club.’

She shoots him a glance and he lifts his shoulder in a small shrug.

‘Of course, Daddy.’ She kisses him on the cheek. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight,’ he says, nodding at Isobel and Nick. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’

‘You too,’ Isobel says coolly. ‘We will see you both tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Mummy. D’you know where Peter and Miranda are? I’d like to say goodnight.’

‘Oh, they left about half an hour ago,’ Nick says. ‘They asked us to say goodnight on their behalf. And Ronnie is waiting for you outside.’

‘How thoughtful of him. Well, we’d best not keep him waiting. Goodnight!’ Liz says cheerfully. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Elizabeth. Sleep well, and we’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late,’ her mother says, tempering her words with a small smile.

‘We won’t,’ she replies solemnly, taking his hand and leading him out of the ballroom.

‘Can you collect our coats, darling, please? I’m just going to run to the powder room. I’ll meet you in the lobby.’ She stretches up to press a quick kiss to his cheek and then rushes off. He stands in the line to collect their coats, then walks to the lobby. She’s waiting for him, talking to the man he recognizes as her godfather’s driver.

‘Nice to see you again,’ Ronnie says, clapping him on the back. ‘Ready to go?’

‘Yes, please,’ Liz says, shrugging into her coat. ‘I’m exhausted.’

His face falls as he watches Liz yawn enormously, ducking into the waiting car. He slides in next to her, closing the door, and immediately she snuggles close to him, resting her hand on his upper thigh.

‘Are you really exhausted?’ he murmurs in her ear.

She looks up at him and giggles, looking delightfully naughty as she tugs loose his tie. ‘No, but it sounded polite, didn’t it? What else was I going to tell my mother--that we needed to get home so that you could make love to me?’

‘Well, I would’ve liked to see her face if you did!’ he laughs.

‘Mm,’ she murmurs, snuggling closer to him. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Where are we now?’

‘Seventy-second and Park,’ he says.

‘Good, almost home.’

‘Yes.’ He kisses her temple.

‘Here we are, Miss Liz!’ Ronnie says, pulling up outside her building.

‘Thank you, Ronnie,’ she says gratefully. ‘You are wonderful.’

‘Any time, you know that.’

‘Thank you. Good night!’

He follows her out of the car and he strides to catch up with her, taking her hand.

‘D’you have the keys?’ she asks, turning around and slipping her hands in his pockets. She arches her back and presses up against him, lifting her face for a kiss.

He catches her by the elbows, not able to kiss her yet. He wants to talk to her first.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.

Nothing. I have the keys,’ he says, fishing them out of his pocket and unlocking the side door. She follows him in, wrapping her arms around his waist as they wait for the elevator. She stretches up to kiss him again, and once again he stops her.

‘Hey, stop--I wanna tell you something.’

‘What’s wrong?’ she asks again.

He takes her into his arms, resting one hand on her cheek. Her grey eyes are filled with concern as she looks into his eyes.

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I just want you to know--I’m serious about you, Lizzie. I want to make this work.’

She smiles at him gently. ‘Good. I’m serious about you too.’ She stretches up again to kiss him and he returns the kiss, pulling her into the elevator when it arrives. He breaks away from her only to hit the button for her floor.

The elevator opens to her floor and she pulls him down to her apartment door. He opens the door in a hurry and they step inside, shrugging off their coats on the way.

‘Jesus, you’re gorgeous, you’re beautiful,’ he breathes, once again struck by how wonderful she looks. He draws her into a deep kiss, sliding one leg between hers as he backs her up against the wall.

‘Mm, Mike, maybe we should go to the bedroom,’ she suggests, her voice low as he drops his head to kiss her neck. ‘Or at least undress?’

He pulls away with real reluctance, recognizing her point although he does not want to stop kissing her, cannot bear to let go of her, not now.

‘Okay,’ he agrees, pulling back from her.

‘Thank God it’s Saturday,’ she says, reaching out to grasp his hand. ‘We can stay in bed all day, except for dinner with my parents.’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but I really don’t want to talk about your parents right now,’ he laughs.

She grins up at him. ‘Well, don’t take _this_ the wrong way, but why aren’t we in bed yet?’

He hefts her into his arms and carries her off to her bedroom, her laughter echoing down the hallway.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party, Liz contemplates her relationship with Mike, admitting to herself that she is in love with him.

‘God, I feel _miserable_ ,’ she groans, throwing her arm over her eyes to block the sun streaming through her bedroom windows. ‘How much did I have to drink last night?’

She can hear him laugh as he settles on the bed next to her, pulling her close. ‘Honestly, honey, I dunno--you were downing the champagne pretty hard.’

‘It’s not funny,’ she says grumpily, rolling over to bury her head against his chest. ‘My parents always do this to me.’

He nuzzles her hair. ‘I’ll get you something that I bet will take the edge off,’ he says, rolling out of bed.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbles, burying her face back against the pillows. She tries to go back to sleep, to dull the pounding in her head that always comes after excessive consumption of champagne, to no avail. She feels a bit queasy, too, but despite her physical discomfort she is so happy. She hears his footsteps in the hall and she opens her eyes and rolls over to watch him step inside.

‘This should do the trick,’ he says, handing her a tall, cold glass.

‘What _is_ it?’ she asks, eyeing it warily.

‘An egg cream--drink up, it’ll help. We need you to be in good shape for dinner with your parents tonight.’

She splutters on the cold, delicious beverage. ‘Oh God, I forgot! Why did you let me agree to this?’

‘I’m fairly certain I couldn’t do anything to stop you agreeing,’ he replies, quirking his eyebrows in that way she loves. ‘Let me tell you, I’d far prefer to spend the evening here with you.’

She drinks the rest of the egg cream as quick as she can without giving herself brain freeze, then sets the empty glass down on the nightstand with a sigh. She opens her eyes fully, tentatively, and is delighted to note that her headache and nausea has abated.

‘Better?’ he asks.

‘ _Much_ ,’ she says with enthusiasm. ‘Where did you learn that?’

‘Oh, here and there,’ he says evasively, bending down to kiss her. Instantly she responds to his kiss, her constant desire for him flaring at his touch.

‘Mm, so what else did I forget about last night?’ she teases him when she pulls back. ‘Somehow I feel there was something important that you wanted to tell me…’

He grins. ‘I think you know,’ he says, flopping down on the bed next to her. ‘C’mere, Lizzie.’

She does as he asks, sliding back beneath the covers and into his arms.

‘So what were you talking about with Miranda last night?’ she asks, running her hand down his arm, relishing the feel of him.

‘She told me that you don’t let anyone else call you Lizzie. She said that you were serious about me.’

She tilts her head back to look up into his eyes; they are warm, tender. ‘I could never keep a secret from her. Even if I don’t tell her things, she’s always been able to read me like a book--far more so than my parents.’

‘I’m glad she told me.’

‘Me too.’ She kisses his shoulder lightly. ‘So, dinner tonight…’

He sighs. ‘Yes, your parents said “the club”? What club?’

She frowns. ‘I’d hoped I’d remembered that wrong. They’re staying at the Metropolitan Club, so they’ll be expecting us to have dinner there, I suppose. What time is it?’ she asks abruptly.

He reaches over her and grabs his watch from the nightstand. ‘It’s only nine.’

‘Good. Come here,’ she says, reaching out for him. ‘We have so much time before we need to get up.’

‘Mm, well, I think you need to sleep a bit more,’ he replies, stroking back her hair from her face. ‘We were up late last night, after all,’ he grins. ‘I need to call into the precinct and check on something, so why don’t you take a little snooze? And I’m assumin’ I’ll need to wear a suit again tonight?’

She nods.

‘Well, then, I’ve gotta pick mine up from my apartment. So why don’t you rest until then? I’ll be back with lunch in a bit, okay?’

‘All right,’ she agrees reluctantly. ‘But do you have to go right this second? Because I can think of something that will help me sleep better…’

He grins at her, running his hand along her side. She shivers at his touch.

‘Didya have something specific in mind, Lizzie?’

‘Did you?’ she counters, reaching up for him. ‘Mm, Mike, I want you.’

She sees an answering fire in his eyes as he bends down to kiss her, pulling back the covers.

‘I always want you,’ he admits.

Before he can kiss her again, her phone rings and she groans in annoyance.

‘Let the machine get it,’ he says, lowering his head to her breast. She wraps her arms around him and moans, arching her back as he begins to suck.

Her machine clicks over. ‘Hello, this is Elizabeth. I’m sorry to miss your call--please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you.’

‘Elizabeth, this is your mother. Please pick up if you’re there.’ There is a pause, and she pulls out of Mike’s embrace immediately, moaning in frustration. He reaches back for her and she rests her hand on his shoulder to stop him. ‘I’m just leaving the club now and will be coming by the apartment to drop off some of the sweaters you requested.’ She stretches out to pick up the phone.

‘Hello, Mummy,’ she says.

‘Oh, Elizabeth, I wasn’t sure you were there.’

‘I’m sorry, I was just making some coffee.’

‘Why don’t I come up for a few minutes and then you and I go have breakfast? I’d like to talk to you.’

‘All right,’ she agrees reluctantly. ‘I need to get dressed, though.’

‘Oh, that’s fine, I don’t mind waiting for you. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,’ her mother says, then hangs up the phone.

She looks back at Mike, panic-stricken, as she hangs up the phone.

‘Where were we?’ he murmurs, reaching out for her. ‘I bet I can relax you again, Lizzie…’

She pushes him away. ‘She’ll be here in fifteen minutes.’

‘What?’ he exclaims, letting go of her.

‘I don’t know! She caught me off-guard. She wants to “talk.” She wants to take me out to breakfast.’

‘What d’you want me to do?’ he asks.

She runs a hand down his arm in apology. ‘I’m not sure. I think she’d have a heart attack if she saw you here.’

He grins. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?’

She returns his smile. ‘No, we wouldn’t.’

‘That’s all right,’ he says. ‘I’ll do what I need to do and meet you back here later?’

‘Perfect,’ she says, relieved he’s not annoyed with her. She stretches up to kiss him lightly, but he catches her elbows and holds her back.

‘You’re too much a distraction, honey, and we definitely don’t have enough time,’ he grins. ‘We’ll have to postpone till later.’

She sighs and flops back against the bed, watching as he dresses.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go.’

‘Me too, Lizzie,’ he tells her. ‘Believe me, I’d much rather spend the day with you.’

She reluctantly rolls out of bed herself, picking up her robe and wrapping it around her. ‘I guess I should shower quickly. I’ll put some coffee on first, though.’

He reaches out and wraps his arms around her waist as she walks past him, pulling her back against him. ‘I love you,’ he murmurs into her hair, and her heart skips a beat. Did he really say it?

‘I love you,’ she replies, turning in his arms to look into his eyes. He is completely solemn and serious and she reaches up to touch his cheek lightly, wanting to make sure she isn’t dreaming this.

‘I should go, honey,’ he says, though he doesn’t move.

‘Okay,’ she breathes, looking at him.

He bends down and kisses her briefly, then grabs his jacket. ‘Okay, I’m off before you tempt me back to your bed.’

She smiles. ‘I’ll see you later. D’you want to take the spare keys?’ She turns away and rummages through her dresser drawer. ‘Here, that way if you finish up first you can let yourself in.’

‘Thanks,’ he says, and kisses her goodbye. He leaves her standing in her bedroom, and the second she hears the door close behind him she tugs her sheets to straighten the bed.

Luckily her mother is late and she has time to take a quick shower and dress before her mother arrives. Just as she is putting on her earrings, she hears her mother’s keys in the lock.

‘Elizabeth!’ she calls.

‘I’ll be right there, Mummy,’ she calls in response. A few moments later, she rejoins her mother in the living room.

‘Are you ready to go, darling? I’m famished.’

‘Yes--I’ll just get my coat,’ she says, rummaging through the closet for her polo coat. Her mother, as always, looks incredibly put-together, wearing flannel slacks and a cashmere sweater. Her mother waits impatiently as she shrugs into her coat, then they walk out of their apartment to the Gracie Mews Diner, where they always went for breakfast when she was a girl.

As soon as they are settled in a corner booth with cups of coffee, Liz finally meets her mother’s eyes.

‘So, darling,’ she says, her voice surprisingly tentative. ‘We were surprised you brought Michael instead of Jim.’

She fights back a blush. ‘I know. I did tell you and Daddy over Thanksgiving, though, that whatever I had with Jim was at its beginning. And Mike… Mike is--’ she pauses. ‘I don’t know, Mummy,’ she admits.

Her mother reaches across the table to take her hand. ‘Miranda said that she thought it was serious.’

This time she can’t fight back the blush.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she admits.

‘He’s not for you, Elizabeth. He doesn’t come from your background; he doesn’t have your opportunities; he has a dangerous job.’

‘I know.’

‘Then…?’

‘I’m in love with him.’ It’s oddly freeing to admit and the flash of surprise on her mother’s face is worth it.

‘Elizabeth!’ her mother exclaims as though she’s said something nasty.

‘Yes?’

‘How can you be _in love_ with him?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ She runs a hand over her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

Isobel sighs and looks away. ‘How long have you been seeing him? Do you know anything about him?’

‘About eight months, off and on. And yes, I do know him.’

‘He doesn’t look like the confiding type.’

She flushes, unable to tell her why she knows as much as she does. ‘He isn’t, necessarily. But surely the fact that he has means that what we have is--’

‘What? Something _real_?’ her mother asks, half-mocking.

‘Mummy--I’m happy with him. Yes, he’s not what you want for me, but we are not engaged, not married. And despite that what I have with him is serious. Maybe it will end up that way, but it might not--but whatever happens, I want to see it through. Can you please give him a chance?’

Isobel looks at her over the cup of coffee she cradles in her hands. ‘All right, Elizabeth. We’ll give him a chance. For you, we will. But you know--we only have your best interests at heart.’

‘I know.’

Her mother squeezes her hand and then they sit back, speaking desultorily about the ball and their friends, and studiously avoiding the topic of Mike.

 

When they finish breakfast, her mother pays the check.

‘I’m meeting Miranda for some shopping and then lunch, but I will see you for dinner. Your father suggested that we go to Le Charlot instead of dining at the club.’

She knows why they’ve changed their minds--keeping Mike on uneven footing, making sure he knows that he is on their territory, is less important than hiding their daughter’s unsatisfactory boyfriend now that it’s apparent he will be around for a while. Le Charlot is minute and unknown; so few people know of it and only a handful of their friends. And it was not a planned decision, she knows, but a spontaneous one now that her mother knows what he is to her. Better not to provoke him into embarrassing them at their club. Better to hide him. ‘All right. At 7:30 still?’

‘Yes. We’ll see you there.’ She kisses her on the cheek and hails a cab, sliding in the backseat without a backwards glance.

 

She isn’t ready to walk back to her apartment yet and sit in silence, so she decides to walk along the river. She strolls along in thoughtful silence, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she thinks about her mother’s words. _He is not for you…_

She runs an anxious hand through her hair. What if her mother is right? They are so different from each other…

No. She won’t think like that; she can’t think like that. Whatever they are, whatever they become, she will not let her mother poison it. It is between them, and right now--right now she is in love with him and he is in love with her, she knows it, and that is what matters.

It’s much later than she expects when she finally returns to her apartment--nearly two o’clock. She’s starving and stops by the deli on her corner on the way back to grab a sandwich.

When she unlocks the door to her apartment she hears the sound of her stereo playing Dire Straits. 

‘Lizzie, is that you?’ he calls.

‘Yes! I’ll be in in a minute.’

She hangs up her coat in the hall closet before she enters the living room, where she stops still and looks at the room in astonishment.

‘I couldn’t help it,’ he says, coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. ‘D’you mind?’

‘Mind?’ she says, tearing her eyes away from the lit-up Christmas tree. ‘No, it’s wonderful. I rarely get a large tree because I can’t manage it on my own--but this is marvelous.’

He grins and sets down the coffee on an end table, then takes her into his arms. ‘I missed you today.’

‘Me too,’ she says, stretching up to kiss him. ‘Oh, Mummy said that she decided we’d go to dinner at this little French place around the corner--it’s much quieter and more relaxing than the club, thank goodness.’

‘Mm, good,’ he murmurs, bending down to kiss her deeply. As tempting as this road is--and she wants him so much she clings to him to steady her weak knees--she pulls back.

‘I want to decorate the tree first.’

He laughs and releases her, spreading his hands in acquiescence as he says, ‘All right. Show me the ornaments.’

 

They finally finish the tree two hours later, and she curls up on her sofa to look at it while Mike pours them wine in the kitchen.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she says when he returns, beaming at him. ‘Thank you.’

He sets the wine down on the coffee table and leans in for a kiss. This time she does not pull away, but embraces him, pressing herself close as he deepens the kiss. She rests her hands on his waist and slips one down the waistband of his jeans, relishing the feel of his body. He moans into her mouth, then works to untuck her blouse, sliding one large hand up her back. She leans back against the sofa, his weight resting on top of her, and starts unbuckling his belt.

‘I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day,’ he murmurs, unbuttoning her pants. ‘Mm, beautiful, beautiful.’ He settles on top of her, stroking her cheek.

‘Me too,’ she sighs. ‘Oh, I want you.’

 

Afterwards, he shifts, settling her next to him on the sofa, her arm draped over his chest.

‘Mm, we should get ready to go soon,’ she says lazily as his hand caresses her waist.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ he agrees, but doesn’t move. ‘I don’t want to move.’

‘Me neither. I wish we didn’t have to go. I could stay here for hours.’

‘Well we can come back after,’ he says, stroking her hair. ‘What time is it?’

She twists around and looks at his wristwatch, then sits straight up. ‘Oh God, it’s six-thirty already, we have to start getting ready.’ She stands up and walks to the bathroom. ‘I’ll get the shower going, Mike, but we do have to hurry,’ she calls over her shoulder. As soon as the water gets warm she steps in, quickly followed by him. 

‘I wish we had more time,’ he says, kissing her deeply, ‘because you look so hot right now.’

She laughs, kissing him. ‘Well, we’ll have time later.’

‘I mean, I could be quick,’ he says persuasively, running a hand possessively down her back.

She laughs again, pushing him away. ‘We’re already late.’ She steps out of the shower and deftly turns the knob to cold; he yells in annoyance and she laughs again.

‘Oh, you’re gonna pay for that later,’ he growls, grinning. ‘Just wait till we get back.’

 

They’re five minutes early but her parents are already seated. She greets them, as does Mike, shaking their hand. She can tell he feels uncomfortable--he is a tall man, and this restaurant has tables crammed close together. He pulls out her chair and then manages to wedge himself into his, pushing the chair back a bit to get comfortable.

‘So, what have you been up to all day?’ her mother asks.

‘We got a Christmas tree and decorated it,’ she says, the slightest emphasis on the “we.” ‘It looks wonderful.’

‘That’s nice, dear,’ she says dismissively. ‘Miranda and I had a wonderful time shopping this morning. Of course I needed to pick up my new stationery from Mrs. John L. Strong, but we also popped in Scalamandre to check on a few of their new fabrics. She’s thinking of redoing the library and we found some nice options. And, of course, we finished our Christmas shopping.’

‘I need to finish mine,’ she admits, blushing as she realizes it’s nearly Christmastime and Mike has completely distracted her from any sort of preparation. ‘Tomorrow, I think.’

‘When will you be coming home for Christmas, Elizabeth?’ her father asks.

‘I’m not sure yet, Daddy. I’ll probably take the train up on the twenty-third.’

‘If you’re staying in the city until the twenty-third, you should drive up with Miranda and Peter. They’ll be coming up then,’ Isobel says. ‘I’ll call them and arrange it.’

There’s no way she can protest, so she leans back in her seat with a sigh. ‘Thank you, Mummy.’

The waiter comes by with exclamations of delight at their presence, and she glances over at Mike. He’s studying the menu, brow furrowed, and she realizes that he might not be able to read French.

‘The mussels are always good here, as is the grilled swordfish and steak au poivre,’ she whispers. He quirks a grin at her in thanks.

‘So, Michael, tell us about yourself,’ Isobel says after they’ve ordered. ‘Where did you grow up, go to school?’

She feels rather than hears his explosive sigh and sees him shift in discomfort.

‘I grew up here in the city,’ he says briefly. ‘I studied police psychology at the Academy. My dad was a cop too, but I always wanted to be a detective.’

‘So you work in Homicide?’ her father asks. ‘Don’t you find that a bit depressing?’

‘Not really,’ he replies, then explains. ‘It’s important. What we do for the dead--it’s the last thing that can be done for them--we give them justice.’ He shrugs, picks up his glass of wine and takes a sip. ‘It’s… important,’ he says again, struggling for words, and she reaches out and takes his hand.

He turns his head and looks at her; for a long moment she forgets that they are having dinner with her parents, that they are judging their interactions, finding him wanting.

Her mother clears her throat delicately and she drops his hand and looks away, asking her mother about their menu for Christmas dinner.

 

‘Well, it was nice to get to know you a bit better, Michael,’ Isobel says at the end of dinner, extending a languid hand for him to shake. ‘Perhaps you’ll join us for a few days after Christmas, if you don’t have other plans.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ he says in response. ‘That’d be nice.’

She looks at her mother closely as she makes the offer; to her immense surprise it seems sincere.

‘Elizabeth will arrange it with you,’ her father says. ‘Good to see you.’

She kisses them goodbye and takes his hand as they walk off; after they are out of earshot the looks up at him.

‘Well, that was surprising,’ he admits frankly.

She laughs nervously. ‘For me, too. I didn’t think they’d like you.’

‘You mean I’m not as charming as I think I am?’ he jests.

‘Oh, you are, but my mother isn’t easily charmed…’ she says, trailing off as he bends to kiss her. ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’

‘I’d like to, though,’ he says. ‘I’d like to see where you grew up.’

She smiles up at him.

‘But you know what I’d like better?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.

‘Hmm?’

He bends down to whisper in her ear. ‘You, back in bed, now. I believe you owe me…’

She feels an immediate surge of desire and she bites her lower lip to temper it. Looking up at him, she sees his grin, knows that he is affecting her this way on purpose.

‘Lead the way,’ she says, slipping her arm into his.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Mike spend the Christmas holiday with her parents in Connecticut.

‘I’ll see you in a few days,’ he says, leaning over to kiss her. ‘The two o’clock train, right?’

‘Yes, I’ll pick you up from the Norwalk station,’ she replies. ‘I can’t wait. Merry Christmas.’

He grins. ‘Merry Christmas.’

She slides out of his car, grabbing her bag from the backseat before waving and blowing him a kiss. The doorman at Peter’s building smiles at her.

‘Hello, Dr. Olivet. Can I take your bag?’ he asks.

‘Hello, Ricky. Yes, thank you. Are they upstairs?’

‘Yes, they’re waiting for you. I’ll bring your bag down to the car.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, smiling. ‘I’ll head upstairs.’

The elevator opens for her and she presses the button to the penthouse. When the doors open, she sees Peter and Miranda sitting finishing their breakfast.

‘Hello, sweetie,’ Miranda says, smiling at her. ‘We’re just finishing up and then we’ll be on our way. Are you hungry?’

‘I’ll just help myself to coffee,’ she replies. ‘Ricky brought my bag down to the car.’

‘Great--it’ll be nice to get a quick start,’ Peter says. ‘I’m just about finished--I’ll bring the car around and see you in ten minutes.’

As soon as the elevator doors close behind him Miranda turns to her, eyes bright with interest. ‘So, is Michael coming for Boxing Day?’ she asks.

‘Yes--I’m surprised my mother invited him.’ She catches Miranda’s suppressed grin. ‘Oh, Miranda--you asked her, didn’t you?’

She looks up, smile widening. ‘Of course. I didn’t think you two should spend the entirety of Christmas apart. Lovebirds are always in season.’

She laughs at her horrible joke. ‘My God, Miranda, you are ridiculous.’

‘Well, you need someone in your corner. Besides, how are your parents going to get to know him if you don’t bring them together again?’

‘Maybe they don’t have to get to know him,’ she says cautiously, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘I’m a big girl, after all, Miranda. I can have a life without my parents.’

She arches an eyebrow at her. ‘Isobel will never accept that, you know.’

‘What, that I’m dating someone not from Connecticut?’

‘No, that you’re an adult, Elizabeth. And yes, that you’re dating someone not from Connecticut.’

She laughs, taking a sip of coffee. ‘Look, we should go--I’m sure Peter’s waiting for us.’

Miranda looks down at her watch then picks up her tea languidly. ‘Oh, let’s keep him waiting. It’s not as though we’re really in any rush. He just wants to get to Rowayton and smoke cigars with your father while they talk about nothing. You’re not in any rush to see your mother, are you?’

‘God, no!’ she declares vehemently, and Miranda laughs.

‘Thought not,’ she says with satisfaction, and sips her tea.

 

Christmas passes much the same as ever--beautiful on the surface but with an undercurrent of tension, things unspoken because they are improper or boring or simply Not Done.

 _This is why I became a psychologist,_ she thinks, _to listen not only to words but to body language. I’m good at it, after all these years…_ she smiles to herself, then turn her attention back to her mother’s words, despairing of the quality of mincemeat when one doesn’t bring it back specially from London.

She is anxious, both eagerly anticipating and dreading Mike’s arrival that afternoon. Three days here, with him, with her parents, with Peter and Miranda, her cousins, her aunts and uncles… the entire clan, here, all of them with their curious gazes and dangerous, whispered gossip…

Her mother’s voice breaks into her thoughts. ‘Elizabeth, isn’t it time for you to pick up Michael from the train station?’

She looks down at her watch and stands up abruptly. ‘Yes, you’re right--I’ll leave now.’

‘Drive safely,’ her father says abstractedly, barely looking up from the newspaper he’s perusing. Peter and Miranda are playing chess in front of the fire, and she looks up and grins at her.

‘See you two soon!’ she says brightly.

She slips out of the house, bundling herself tightly in her camel hair coat. It’s freezing outside but luckily there’s no snow on the roads, though her house looks like it belongs in a Currier & Ives print. She smiles--if he’s coming to see where she grew up, this is the house as its best. The grey cedar shingles make the crisp snow look pleasingly white. The sea behind the house is calm, small waves lapping at the shore. It looks simply perfect.

She pulls out of the long drive and through the trees onto the road. It’s a quick drive from Contentment Island to the South Norwalk station, and she sings along to the Christmas carols on the radio as she drives down the familiar tree-lined roads.

The train’s just pulling into the station as she parks, and she climbs out of the car, walking to the platform to wait for him. Suddenly, there he is--casual and comfortable in dark green slacks and a thick sweater, a black overcoat draped over his shoulders. She’s relieved, selfishly, that he isn’t wearing that awful brown leather coat. He’s carrying a beat-up blue canvas duffel, and she steps forward, waving to him.

He takes a few steps closer and drops the bag, slipping his arms around her waist. 

‘Hi there,’ he says, smiling down at her.

She smiles widely. ‘Hi.’

‘Well, I’ve missed you, Lizzie,’ he says, bending down to kiss her. She twines her arms around his neck, running one hand through his hair. He deepens the kiss, tongue running along her lower lip, seeking access. She presses closer to him, moving one arm to wrap around his waist. One of his hands slips beneath her coat to rest on her bottom, squeezing lightly; she pulls back with a gasp and he grins at her.

‘Are you ready?’ she asks, nearly breathless.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, releasing her to pick up his bag. As soon as he stands up again she takes his hand.

‘I’m happy you’re here,’ she says as they walk towards her car.

‘Me too, honey,’ he agrees, dropping her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, casually settling into step with her. ‘So, tell me what to expect from the next few days.’

They reach the car and she unlocks it; he tosses his bag into the backseat, then slides into the passenger seat. She starts the car to warm it up and then turns to look at him.

‘Um, well, tonight’s our big Boxing Day party--you did bring a suit, didn’t you?’ she asks worriedly.

‘Don’t worry, I did,’ he reassures her. ‘Go on.’

‘My family will be there--all of them, my parents, cousins, aunts, uncles… family friends, Miranda and Peter, neighbors…’ she trails off and rests her forehead against the steering wheel. ‘It’s overwhelming.’

He rests a hand on her knee, sliding it upwards. She looks at him.

‘You don’t have to worry. I’m sure I’ll be fine, on one condition…’ he says, trailing off.

‘And what condition would that be?’

She feels a rush of heat that settles low in her belly as he leans close to whisper, ‘Well, if there’s a lot of people there, it’ll be easy to sneak off together, won’t it?’

She turns her head to look in his eyes and he kisses her again, taking her face between his hands. Her elbow slips and hits the car horn, a sharp sound that pulls them apart. She laughs nervously, then settles back against the seat.

‘Well, we should get going,’ she says, taking a deep breath before she pulls out of the parking lot.

‘Tell me more, Lizzie,’ he presses. ‘Am I the only one stayin’ over?’

‘No, Miranda and Peter are here,’ she replies. ‘And two of my cousins are also staying at the house, Helen and Katie. They’ve both just finished college and are staying with my parents for a bit while they figure out what they’re going to do. It seems to mostly involve sleeping in, having Nina--our housekeeper--make them breakfast, and then going out with friends in Darien instead of taking advantage of being close to the city to find jobs.’

‘Are they sisters?’ he asks.

‘No, they’re not--my father has a brother and a sister. Helen is his brother’s daughter and Katie is his sister’s. They’ve always been close--they’re the same age--and have always been more like sisters than cousins. They are sweet girls, just a bit… unmotivated. They’ve been locked in Katie’s room all morning, getting ready for the party.’

His hand settles on her knee again, possessively, as they drive.

‘My father’s siblings live in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, and they won’t be here, but my mother’s brother lives down the road. This was where she grew up. My aunt and uncle have four sons--Teddy, James, Bill, and Charlie.’

‘That’s impressive,’ he says. 

‘Teddy’s with his wife’s family this year but otherwise they will all be there. They’re a few years older than me--my mother is ten years younger than her brother. Watch out for them--since I’m an only child, they’ve always considered themselves my older brothers.’ She’s only partially joking but he chuckles anyway. ‘Don’t worry about remembering names now--everyone already knows who you are--Miranda is a terrible gossip--and so they will all introduce themselves to you.’

‘I’m glad I’ll recognize one friendly face in the crowd.’

She smiles. ‘She’s looking forward to seeing you, too.’

Turning down their driveway, she glances over at him. ‘Almost there…’

She glances over at him as she parks. He looks astonished, in awe of the house.

‘I love this place more than anything--well, almost,’ she adds. ‘Welcome to Contentment Island.’

He laughs. ‘It’s really called that?’

She grins. ‘It really is.’

They climb out of the car and he grabs his bag from the backseat. She takes his hand and leads him up the steps to the front door.

‘We’re back!’ she calls out, and her two cousins come rushing down the staircase, stopping abruptly at the base of the stairs.

‘Liz, you’re back!’ Helen says, exaggeratedly casual, running a hand through her hair. ‘Is this Michael?’

‘Call me Mike,’ he says, and she looks over to see him grinning, noting their low-cut tops.

‘I’m Katie,’ Katie says, running her eyes up his form appreciatively. ‘And this is Helen.’

‘Pleasure to meet you both,’ he says, draping one arm casually around her waist as he extends his hand to shake theirs.

‘Ah, I thought I heard you both,’ Miranda says, coming in from the living room. ‘Michael, how lovely to see you.’

‘You too,’ he says, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ she says, smiling up at him, before she looks at her. ‘Isobel and Nick have gone next door to get some things from the party. They should be back soon. Everyone--yes, that means you both as well,’ she says, raising an eyebrow at Helen and Katie, ‘is going to have a little rest before cocktail hour starts at six. The caterers are already here and setting up, so you can show Michael around later, Elizabeth.’

‘All right,’ she agrees, off-balance by the influx of information. She hears a clatter of footsteps and looks up to see Katie and Helen escaping from Miranda, who laughs.

‘All right, off you two go,’ she says, shooing them away. ‘Peter’s napping, so please be quiet.’ She walks away, then turns back. ‘Oh, Elizabeth--I’ve convinced your mother that it’s pointless to uproot one of the girls so that Michael can have his own room, so he’s in with you. Merry Christmas,’ she adds with a wink, then walks away.

She stands there, shocked, for a moment, before Mike calls her back to the present.

‘Well, that’s a surprise,’ she admits.

‘Do you not normally share your room with your boyfriends?’ he asks, amused, picking up his bag again.

‘Never,’ she says. ‘I’m glad we don’t have to worry about sneaking down the hallway to see each other.’

‘I dunno, that sounds appealing too, y’know,’ he grins. ‘A little bit of a thrill, but yeah--too much effort.’

She smiles. ‘Okay, let’s have our little rest, as Miranda ordered.’

He grabs her hand as she starts up the stairs and she turns to look at him. ‘Do we have to… rest?’ he asks, quirking his eyebrows in the way she loves.

‘We’ll see,’ she teases him, and leads the way up to her bedroom.

She opens the door to her bedroom and steps inside. He closes the door behind them and looks around. She watches him as he takes in the large white cast-iron bed, piled high with pillows; the long white dresser filled with silver-framed photographs; the sea-blue walls. Framed watercolors of Bermuda hang on her walls and her windows show the grey sea below.

‘So what do you think?’ she says, breaking the silence.

‘Very nice,’ he says, setting his bag on the floor and walking to the bed. He rests his hand on it, testing the mattress, then turns and grins at her. ‘Yeah, very nice indeed.’ He flops down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. ‘So, are we gonna listen to Miranda and have a little rest…?’

‘D’you need to unpack anything first?’ she asks, picking up his bag and resting it on the bench at the base of the bed.

He stands up again, coming around to rest his hand on her waist. ‘Yeah, I guess I should.’ He opens up the duffle bag and pulls out his suit, a few shirts, slacks, socks, and boxers. She walks over to the dresser and opens a drawer for him, then takes a few hangers out of the closet and holds out a hand for his clothes.

‘Oh, the bathroom’s through this door,’ she says, gesturing at the other closed door.

He pulls out a bottle of scotch, neatly wrapped, and hands it to her. ‘For your parents,’ he says, then rummages around and finds a small wrapped box. ‘This is for you.’

She takes it, beaming up at him. ‘Thank you.’ She walks over to her dresser and pulls out a box from a drawer, handing it to him. ‘This is for you.’

‘Should we open them now or…?’ he asks.

‘Oh, now, I think,’ she says, kicking off her shoes and sitting on her bed. She neatly unwraps the present and lifts the lid of the box. Inside is a pair of finely worked silver earrings, silver circles dangling. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she says, holding up the delicate pieces. ‘Oh, Mike, thank you.’

He grins. ‘I thought you’d like them.’ He sits on the bed next to her and gives her a light kiss, then lifts the lid of the box, revealing two floor seats tickets to the Knicks.

‘I figured if you’re going to sit through the opera for me, I should get you tickets to something you enjoy,’ she says, looking at him. ‘And don’t worry, you don’t have to take me.’

‘You’re amazing,’ he breathes, setting the tickets aside and leaning forward to kiss her.

She pulls back from him and stands up.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

‘Nothing,’ she replies, ‘just making sure we won’t be disturbed…’ she turns on the CD player, putting in a CD of Chopin nocturnes, puts their presents on her dresser, and locks her door before rejoining him.

‘Time for our rest?’ he suggests, and she nods. He pulls off his shirt and sweater and immediately begins unbuttoning her blouse as she reaches for his belt. ‘God, it’s been too long, Lizzie.’

‘It’s been four days!’ she laughs, though she feels the same urgency.

‘Hey, it’s a long time,’ he argues, tossing her blouse behind her on the floor. ‘God, Lizzie, even four days…’ He kicks off his pants and she wriggles out of hers, then urges him back against the pillows of her bed. She straddles his thighs and begins to kiss him slowly, sensuously, and he raises his hands to cup the back of her head. She deepens the kiss, trailing one hand down his chest as she reaches into his boxers.

Even after all this time she is excited by the idea of having him, the idea that she can make this incredible man cry out her name. He rests one hand on hers, guiding her as she starts to stroke him, quickening the pace as he grows hard in her hand. She shifts her seat and rubs herself against his thigh, moaning as he lets go of her hand and urges her out of her panties. Next he unfastens her bra; she moans louder as he lowers his mouth to her breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth and suckling in time to his caresses.

‘God, Mike!’ she exclaims as he slips one finger inside her, and he pulls back and looks at her with a grin.

‘You’re a naughty girl, Elizabeth,’ he whispers lowly. ‘Having sex with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks in your parents’ house. What would they say if they found you out?’

He lays her back gently against the bed and she watches as he stands up and slips out of his boxers. He is fully erect, and she unconsciously licks her lips.

‘Mm, they’d punish me,’ she says as he joins her, letting out a shaky sigh. ‘And then you’d have to sneak in through the window…’

‘And you’d be waitin’?’ he asks, parting her legs, running his hands up her thighs, pressing his erection against her.

‘Yes, I’d be waiting for you, not wearing anything. The lights would be off and you’d climb up the trellis and then you’d be here, standing in front of me, and I’d reach out for you--oh, God, Mike, that feels incredible,’ she moans, throwing back her head as he enters her with one swift thrust.

‘You feel so good,’ he tells her breathlessly, and she looks up at his face, completely focused as he concentrates on the task at hand. ‘Jesus, I missed this, I missed you…’

She grips the headboard of her bed and focuses on him, the feel of him inside her, filling her, the sound of his voice, and she loses grip, forgetting that she’s in her parents’ house as she moans his name. He laughs and lowers himself suddenly, kissing her as she begins to come, absorbing her cries. She grips his shoulders tightly and she feels the exact moment of his release, the way his body relaxes at last.

‘God, you’re loud,’ he says with a grin, breath uneven.

‘I’m out of practice--four days is a long time,’ she retorts with a grin, sighing as he pulls out of her and settles next to her.

She yawns and stretches languidly. ‘What time is it, Mike?’ she asks.

‘Three-fifteen,’ he says, looking at the clock.

‘Okay, so we could actually take a little rest,’ she laughs, leaning over to grab her clock. ‘I’ll set an alarm.’ She does so and returns to his warm embrace. ‘Mm, I missed you.’

‘Me too, Lizzie,’ he says, tilting her chin up so he can kiss her lips. She smiles, then nestles closely against him, closing her eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

He lies in her bed holding her for a while as her breathing evens out and she falls asleep. As she sleeps in his arms, he shifts so he can sit up and look around her room. It’s a nice room--more than nice, in fact, at least double the size of his bedroom in the city--and calming, pretty clearly reflecting her personality. Growing up here must’ve been nice… never wondering if there’d be food on the table, if your dad would come home drunk after work, if your mom would decide you were worthless that day… he feels a surge of anger when he thinks about his childhood, nothing like this picture-perfect life she clearly had. But hey, he did it, made it out--worked to put himself through the Academy, walked a beat for a while until he made it as a Homicide Detective… yeah, he did it on his own, and he’s proud of it. But lying here in her bed, holding this woman who is the product of… _this_ … well, this is something else.

How could she want to be with him? God, he still questions it, even though she’s made it abundantly clear that she wants him, that she’s serious about him. But how long’s it gonna last? Is this something she just wants to get out of her system? A bubble of anxiety wells up deep in his chest. When is he gonna lose her to someone else, someone who grew up like this? Because despite everything he doesn’t want to lose her. She makes him feel good, safe, comfortable; even if they’re just sitting around talking, he’d rather be with her than without her, even if it’s in a place like this.

He definitely never thought he’d feel this way about anyone, especially this woman. His shrink… the woman who met his gaze coolly, with derision, those first few months. The woman who’d still slap him down with a few well-chosen words, questioned him, stood her ground and didn’t back down for anything… and yet she was so much more than that. She was clever, yes, and surprisingly passionate, incredibly inventive, and warmly affectionate with him. She didn’t think less of him for all the differences in their upbringing, their positions now. She has never pretended he was anything different than who he is… and he’s aware enough of the way things work in her circles to know that this is a rare thing, especially with her parents.

He doesn’t want to mess things up with her. He even went to the library and read a chapter in Emily Post on weekends away to make sure he brought the right clothes, did the right things, feeling stupider than ever but hoping it would make things easier. He’s anxious about the weekend ahead and she is too, he can tell. It’s definitely different from their time together in the city, even when he met her parents; they are here under her parents’ roof and he wants to be on his best behavior.

Well, mostly, he thinks, grinning down at her. God, even four days dragged without her. How can she make him feel like this? Yeah, he’s been overcome with desire for a woman before but it always passes quickly after a few nights in the sack. It’s more about the chase for him, and while the ending is always satisfactory, there is something almost dull about it all, the foregone conclusion. He thought she’d be like that too, thought they’d sleep together once or twice and they’d go back to being colleagues. It’s happened a few times with other women--Heather Coyne at the M.E.’s office, Maggie Nolan from the 1-6, nurses he’s met on hospital visits… and yeah, maybe their relationships weren’t great afterwards but it’s not like he and Liz were bosom buddies beforehand anyway. It was a gamble worth taking… and it paid off more than he could’ve imagined. It was like winning the lottery from a ticket he found lying on the ground--riches he’d only imagined in his wildest dreams.

And God, he wants her. He’s never wanted a woman this much… it’s so good with her. The way she responds… and he knows her now, knows just how to touch her to make her come, just as she knows how to arouse him… He shifts, half-hard already with thinking of her and the feel of her body against him… 

He glances over at the clock--four o’clock, plenty of time… he runs a hand down her side, her smooth skin like velvet. She stirs slightly, mumbling in her sleep, and he slips his arm out from beneath her. She’s gorgeous, and he strokes back a stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She smiles in her sleep.

The CD she put on earlier is finished; he climbs out of bed and presses play and the soft strains of classical music begin again.

‘Mike?’ she murmurs lazily, stirring in her bed. He walks back over to her side, looking down at her as she blinks up at him with a sleepy smile. ‘Mm, there you are.’ He kneels next to her and as her gaze drops to his waist she grins. ‘Already?’ she asks. ‘God, Mike, you’re insatiable… do we have time?’

‘Plenty of time,’ he says, lowering himself to kiss her. ‘And Lizzie, it’s been days, days without this, without you…’

She reaches down and grasps his cock in her hand. ‘Mm, this feels nice,’ she whispers lowly, looking up at him.

He groans into her mouth as she arches up to kiss him, stroking him as he presses against her. It feels like he’s seventeen again and making out with Mary Driscoll from down the block, everything fresh and new and exciting… Just as she opens her mouth, deepening the kiss, a knock comes at her door.

‘Liz?’ a girl’s voice calls, and she pulls back from him abruptly.

‘Yes, Helen?’ she asks, voice shaky as he lowers his head, kissing her jaw where her pulse beats quickly.

‘Are you busy? Can I come in, Liz? I need your help.’

He starts to laugh--yeah, just like when he was seventeen--and she presses her palm against his mouth to stifle his laughter.

‘Helen, I’m just about to take a shower…’

‘It’ll only take a minute!’

She sighs. ‘Give me a minute,’ she says, slipping out from his embrace. She kisses him lightly in apology, rolling her eyes in exasperation at her cousin as he picks up a book from her nightstand and slips under the covers, pretending to read and trying desperately to will down his erection. She wraps herself in a robe hanging from the closet door, then opens the door a crack.

‘What is it, Helen?’ she asks.

‘Liz, Katie’s _insisting_ that I said she could wear my Joseph dress to the party so I have nothing to wear! Can I borrow something?’ she asks, barrelling into the room. She stops abruptly and looks at him, grinning slowly. ‘Ooh, did I interrupt something?’ she asks, turning to Liz and continuing to grin.

To his surprise, Liz is blushing bright red. ‘The closet’s over there, Helen,’ she says, pointing.

Helen giggles and turns to the closet, flicking through the dresses inside.

‘Ooh, can I borrow this, Liz?’ she asks, holding out a black velvet dress.

‘Yes, yes, that’s fine, Helen. Anything else?’ she asks impatiently.

‘No, that’s it. Better take a shower now if you want any hot water… though at a guess you might be happier with cold,’ she quips, and Liz smacks her lightly on the arm.

‘We’ll see you downstairs,’ Liz says, closing the door firmly behind her, then turns to face him.

‘Ugh,’ she sighs exasperatedly. ‘I suppose we should start getting ready. And she’s right, we’ll have to hurry if we want any hot water.’

He climbs out of the bed and takes her in his arms. ‘Later,’ he promises, kissing her.

 

He sits on the bed and she stands between his legs, one hand in hers as she fastens his cufflinks.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he says.

‘And you will put every other man at this party to shame,’ she tells him seriously, pausing to bend down and kiss him lightly. ‘You ready?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, though all he wants to do is take her back to bed… As she takes his hand and leads him out of her bedroom, he feels a surge of anxiety. It’s dumb--he’s a cop, puts his life on the line every day without feeling like this--but this is something different. He knows where he is on the streets, in the precinct, even with her--but this is unknown territory, way beyond his scope of knowledge.

She stops him just before they walk into the library. ‘I’m nervous,’ she admits softly.

He chuckles lightly, raising his hand to cup the back of her head. ‘Me too,’ he says.

‘It’ll be fine, right?’ she asks, looking up at him.

‘Always,’ he responds, sure of it now. She smiles at him and he bends down to kiss her.

‘Get a room!’ a voice says behind them. He breaks apart and turns to look at the speaker; it’s Katie. ‘Oh, wait, Helen might barge in,’ she laughs.

‘You both are terrible!’ Liz exclaims, but she’s blushing and grinning.

‘Hey, if he was mine you’d better be sure we’d be shacked up all weekend and not heading to this party,’ she says, raising an eyebrow as she looks at him. He considers her briefly; she is an attractive girl, young, pretty--but then he looks back down at Liz and realizes, with a small shock, that he has everything he’s ever wanted in her.

‘Well, Helen’s little interruption is all your fault anyway, Katie,’ she says. ‘You know that she’d never lend you that dress.’

Katie giggles. ‘Yes, but she’s so easy to persuade, and I do love it.’ She strokes the skirt smugly. ‘Listen, aren’t you dying for a drink? Let’s go in.’

So far the only part of her house he’s seen is her bedroom, but he’s seen her apartment and he isn’t surprised by the grandeur of the room they walk into.

He’s glad he’s wearing this suit, glad Liz insisted on cufflinks and a nice tie. They look like something out of a magazine, arranged beautifully in front of a crackling fire, a bar set up in the corner beneath walls of leather-bound books. He can’t help but catalogue everything in front of him--the table in the center of the room holds a large flower arrangement; two leather sofas flank the fireplace, framing a large oriental rug; the large grand piano in the corner. And then there are the people--Miranda in ice-blue silk; Helen in Liz’s black velvet; Isobel in crimson, all wearing jewelry that sparkles brightly. Peter and Nick are preparing drinks, their backs sober in their black suits, and then Liz takes his hand, drawing him inside, and he’s a part of the picture.

‘Merry Christmas, Michael,’ Isobel says, smiling coolly at him. ‘We’re so glad you could join us for a few days.’

‘Merry Christmas Mrs. Olivet,’ he replies. ‘Thank you for having me.’

‘Help yourself to a drink,’ she tells him. ‘Elizabeth will show you where everything is.’

She guides him over to the bar with a slight pressure of her hand against his arm. At the bar, her father and godfather look up.

‘Nice to see you, Michael,’ Peter says, shaking his hand. He then turns his attention to Liz. ‘What would you like to drink, Elizabeth?’

‘Champagne, please, Peter,’ she says, accepting the glass. ‘Mike, what would you like?’

‘A scotch would be great,’ he replies.

Nick looks up at him. ‘Neat, I hope,’ he says.

‘Of course,’ he replies, and Nick smiles.

‘I like this one, Liz,’ he tells his daughter, and she beams up at him.

‘Me too, Daddy,’ she says, squeezing his hand.

‘So, what do you think of Contentment Island, Michael?’ Peter asks, taking a sip of his own drink.

He still can’t help but think how ridiculous a name this is for a place to live… but still, an entire island for a family! He was lucky he had a bed to himself… ‘I haven’t seen much yet, but it’s very nice.’

‘Elizabeth will have to give you a tour tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I look forward to it,’ he says.

‘Daddy, Mike hasn’t even seen the rest of the house yet, so will you excuse us? I’m going to give him a little tour.’

‘Of course, darling,’ her father replies, and Liz leads him through the open doors at the end of the library to the living room.

‘This is the living room, obviously,’ she says, and it’s decorated similarly to the library. There’s a big Christmas tree in the corner, and he walks over to it, looking at the ornaments.

‘I want you to meet Nina,’ she says, pulling at his arm and dragging him down the hallway to the kitchen. The kitchen is a hive of activity, caterers preparing food, waiters milling about.

‘Elizabeth!’ an older British woman cries, making her way toward them. ‘I was wondering when you’d bring your new beau to see me.’

She smiles. ‘You know Miranda, she insisted on a rest before the party. Nina, this is Mike Logan.’

‘Oh, he’s a handsome one, make no mistake,’ she says, studying him intently. ‘But you need to watch out for the Black Irish, Elizabeth--he could break your heart.’

‘Nina!’ she exclaims indignantly, but he ignores her, looking down into Nina’s piercing blue eyes.

She doesn’t look away but grips his hand more tightly. ‘You know better than to dismiss a Cornishwoman’s opinion,’ she tells Elizabeth, still looking into his eyes. For a moment it’s like he’s looking into his grandmother’s eyes. She emigrated from Westmeath years ago and still spoke Irish to his grandfather and to her grandchildren. She was a good Catholic but she believed very firmly in the Old Ones, as she called the fairies. And while he always scoffed at her beliefs when he was little, not wanting the teasing from his friends, he can’t help but think now, as he stares into Nina’s eyes, that there might be something to it. What does she see? He wants to know. He can’t look away from her. The tension grows and finally snaps when a caterer bumps into him and dislodges her grip.

‘Your mother will miss you, Elizabeth,’ Nina says at last, looking at her. ‘You should go back to the party.’

He looks at Liz too; her brow is furrowed as she looks into Nina’s eyes. ‘All right,’ she agrees. ‘We’ll see you later, Nina.’

They walk out of the kitchen; he turns to look over his shoulder at Nina, who is still watching him curiously.

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she apologies profusely, pulling him aside before they reenter the library. ‘I don’t know what got into Nina.’

He looks at her. ‘What did she mean when she said “you know better than to dismiss a Cornishwoman’s opinion”?’

‘The Cornish are famous for their… perspicacity,’ she says, stumbling a bit on her explanation. ‘Nina’s had… I don’t know how to explain it, Mike, it’s ridiculous. But she shouldn’t have said it… I’m sorry.’

He swallows, still unsettled by Nina’s pronouncement, especially at how closely it echoed his own fears. ‘You don’t think…’

‘Of course not,’ she says firmly, reaching up to touch his cheek. ‘I know we haven’t finished the tour but maybe we can finish later and just go back inside, hmm? People should be arriving for the party soon.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ he agrees.

 

He is separated from her almost immediately after they walk into the room. They were gone for much longer than they realized, it seems, for the party is in full swing and Liz is pulled away from him by her mother. He stands there for a moment before Helen and Katie appear at his sides.

‘Oh, did Liz abandon you?’ Helen asks with mock sympathy.

‘Don’t worry, Mike, we’ll introduce you to people,’ Katie says, and they lead him off.

He spends the next few hours trying to get back to Liz, making small talk with her cousins and neighbors. Finally she finds her way back to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She’s had a lot to drink already and she’s a bit unsteady on her feet. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling.

‘Mm, darling, how are you doing?’ she asks, beaming brightly.

He laughs, relieved to have her at his side once again, and wraps an arm around her waist to support her. ‘I’m doin’ just fine, honey--how are you?’

‘Good now,’ she replies. ‘Have Katie and Helen been… amusing you?’

‘Well, we are very amusing,’ Helen says. ‘We’ve been taking good care of him, Liz.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, slipping a hand in his. ‘So, have you met everyone yet?’ she asks.

‘We haven’t introduced him to the Griswold boys,’ Katie replies. ‘We thought you’d like that dubious honor, Liz, as they are your cousins and not ours.’

‘Thanks,’ she says sarcastically. ‘Well, if they haven’t found us by now…’

‘...we won’t find you at all?’ a deep, amused male voice says from behind them. ‘You should know better than that, Liz.’

She looks up at him and rolls his eyes before she turns around. ‘Hello, Charlie.’

He turns and sees three tall, brown-haired men, clearly brothers, clearly Liz’s relations. They have the same cool competence that she does, the same confident stance. He straightens his back almost imperceptibly and extends a hand as Liz quickly introduces them.

‘So, the famous Michael Logan. We’ve heard a lot about you,’ Bill says.

‘Oh, please don’t start on the vaguely threatening older brother act,’ Liz laughs.

‘Act? You wound me, Liz,’ Charlie grins. ‘We only have your best interests at heart.’

‘James, are you just here for the muscle or do you have a verbal contribution?’ she asks, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. ‘What is there to say? He drinks his scotch neat, that’s good enough for me.’

‘James, you are my favorite,’ she tells him fervently, and all four of them laugh.

And then, suddenly, the conversation is smooth. They are actually really good company, and the four of them quickly get into a conversation on the Yankees’ chances at the World Series the following year, debating the various players on the team. He doesn’t notice when Liz slips away.

‘If you boys insist on staying up chatting, would you mind turning off the lights when you finish?’ Isobel says. They all look up in unison, and he’s surprised to see that she’s smiling warmly at them. So he’s made a good impression, he guesses, and he’s passed their tests. He looks at the clock over the mantel and is shocked to see that it’s two in the morning. Liz’s cousins are equally astonished.

‘We should be going,’ James says. ‘Thank you for a wonderful party, Aunt Isobel. And Mike--we’ll see you later.’

They all shake hands and he looks at Isobel as they kiss her goodnight.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asks her once they’re all gone.

‘No, but thank you for the offer,’ Isobel responds, her smile like her daughter’s. ‘You seem to have made a good impression on my nephews.’

‘Yeah, they’re great guys,’ he replies. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else I can do, I think I’ll head up to bed.’

She smiles again. ‘Good idea. Nick and I will be out all day tomorrow, so there’s no agenda. Get up when you feel like it--Liz will show you the ropes. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Good night.’

‘Good night,’ he replies, and walks past her up the stairs to Liz’s room.

He eases the door open quietly. She’s asleep but she’s left the bedside lamp on for him. He strips down to his boxers, uses the bathroom, then climbs into bed beside her. She stirs as he settles next to her, opening her eyes sleepily.

‘Hi,’ she whispers. ‘What time is it?’

‘Past two,’ he replies softly, leaning over her to turn off the light.

‘So late,’ she murmurs, reaching out for him, resting one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his heart. ‘They liked you, I could tell.’ He takes her into his arms, stroking her bottom as she presses her hips up against his. ‘They don’t like anyone.’

He kisses her lightly and she runs her hand through his hair, smiling.

‘Your mother said she and your father will be out all day tomorrow.’

She yawns. ‘Good. I have some plans for us.’

He pulls her closer. ‘I can’t wait.’


End file.
